Les filles du lys de la montagne
by Paul Corrigan
Summary: An old name for the city of Montreal is Ville Marie, hence City of Mary. Oh, what's this actually about? Sei and Shimako, and the other daughters of the mountain lily. That, and the city of Montreal.
1. Chapter 1

I told Ukyou Kuonji not long ago that I'd been toying with the idea of having the Maria-sama ga miteru girls run around in Montreal. Ucchan tried, as Ucchan does, to gently dissuade me from what was likely to be a Really Bad Fanfic Idea. No different from what the kids do, having their favourite anime characters run around in their home town, hinting that that was fine for the kids on but not something a real fanfic writer ought to be doing. Anyway, when I learned Oyuki Konno already had Team Marimite run around in Rome, I took that as a sign that I really, truly ought to get to work on something else.

This is it, or at least what I have of it so far.

Comments welcome.

A disclaimer is in order. All the characters the reader will recognize from Marimite are obviously fictional, but most of the Montreal landmarks named in this story are real. In particular, Ste. Marguerite Bourgeoys, the first female saint from Canada (canonized by Pope John Paul II in 1982) was very real, as is Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours, the first church in Montreal, founded by Ste. Marguerite on what is now rue Saint-Paul in Vieux-MontrИal. The religious order founded by Ste. Marguerite, the CongrИgation de Notre Dame de MontrИal, continues her ministry far beyond Canada's borders; in particular, the CongrИgation operates schools around the world, including at least one in Japan. However, I've taken the CongrИgation's name in vain for the purposes of fiction, and in particular, no resemblance should be inferred between Lillian Academy and any of the schools run by the CongrИgation de Notre Dame de MontrИal in Japan or elsewhere in the world.

Paul Corrigan

--

SI L'AMOUR DE MARIE EN TON COEUR EST GRAVи EN PASSANT NE T'OUBLIE DE LUI DIRE UN AVE

This is the inscription over the door of Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours. Just above the inscription is a Madonna and Child. What could a student of Lillian Academy do, but salute Our Lady wherever she saw her, not least when she had been specifically directed to do so? I put my hands together, bowed my head and said a Hail Mary as I had been taught.

--Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners...

I was distracted just then by the noise of the wooden doors being unbarred. I looked up to see a young man, dressed in the costume of a New French colonist of the 17th century, opening the door of the sanctuary. He obviously guessed I was a tourist, because he greeted me with:

--Bonjour, pХlerin.

--

Les filles du lys de montagne A Maria-sama ga miteru (Marimite) fanfic by Paul Corrigan Marimite concept devised by Oyuki Konno

--

--So. Shimako. What are you doing in Montreal?

Sei didn't ask me this until we were settled on the train from Pierre Elliott Trudeau airport to downtown Montreal. I'd wanted to take a taxi, but Sei said it was too far by taxi, and she'd had to get rid of her car when she left Japan. She didn't even have a Quebec driver's license, so she couldn't even rent a car. I suspect Yumi would have been relieved. She didn't realize Sei didn't drive in Canada, so she'd warned me if life I valued not to let Sei trick me into getting into her car.

In the airport itself, all we'd really done is compliment each other on how good we each looked. Sei did look good, clad in jeans, a denim jacket and a white sweater. It occurred to me that was the outfit she'd worn the day she left, just after the New Year; Yumi and I had gone to see her off. "My Virgin Mary outfit," she'd joked. It was autumn now, and adequate for the weather that day, though it must have been hopelessly inadequate for midwinter in Quebec.

--Bah, I'm putting on weight, Sei said to me. Give me your hand luggage...make myself useful...you want me to grab your backpack?

--No, I'm fine...don't be silly, you look fine, I replied.

--You're still growing, right?

--I'm pretty sure I am...why?

--Hm. Just thought you looked different.

--Different how?

--Oh I don't know...I was going to say, more beautiful than ever.

I'm sure I blushed. Sei smiled as she said it, to reassure me that of course she didn't mean it, and of course she tells that to all the girls, like Sei does. But she'd never said it to me, at least not quite like that. That, and there was a light in her eyes when she looked at me then, and hadn't gone away even now as she sat across from me on the train.

--I thought I told you, I said. To see the universities in Montreal. I wanted to study abroad. The Canadian universities are cheaper, and it's easier to get a student visa. You were the one who told me all that, when you said you were coming here.

--Oh, okay. Thought maybe you missed me or something, said Sei, grinning.

--If I said I missed you, would you want me to come?

Instead of answering directly, she pointed out the window of the train. The track followed a freeway, and we were just passing an industrial estate. There were a couple of flagpoles out front; on one flew the Canadian flag, while on another flew a flag with four white fleurs-de-lys on a blue background.

--See the flags out front?

--Yes, I replied.

--You know what's on them, right?

--On the Canadian flag is the maple leaf. The other flag has fleurs-de-lys...

--Yuri in Japanese. That's the Quebec flag. First time I saw it, I thought, okay, any place that has yuri flowers on its flag has definite possibilities.

While I was distracted, looking out the window, Sei suddenly took my hands. I turned to look at her.

--You know, we could get married here. So if you want to stay here, will you make an honest woman out of me...

--What?

Sei looked me in the eyes for a very long moment, with that light in her eyes seeming to grow.

Then she started laughing out loud. I must have looked horrified. She let go of my hands.

--Just kidding.

--Sei! That's not funny!

Sei saw clearly I wasn't at all amused. I really wasn't happy to hear Sei say all this to me the moment I'd gotten off the plane. She sobered up, sat back in her seat, looking out the window away from me, and told me:

--No, I guess not. I'm sorry.

Sei looked back at me. The light had dimmed.

--Did you get much sleep on the plane? she asked.

--A little. Not enough, I replied.

--I didn't get a wink. Tokyo to Detroit, Detroit to Montreal, not a wink. Living hell. I wasn't in any state to do anything my first day here either...you want to take a nap when we get home?

--That might be a good idea, I said. Now that I was seated on the train, well away from the hustle and bustle of the airport, I began to realize how tired I was. I wouldn't have snapped at Sei like that if I'd been well rested.

--I have missed you, though, really, said Sei, with a tenderness in her smile I'd rarely seen from her. I smiled back.

--Me too.

I took her hand this time, and squeezed it lightly before going on:

--Yumi misses you too.

--That a fact?

--She wanted to come with me, but her parents wouldn't let her.

--Oh yeah?...

Sei gently slipped her hand out of mine before going on:

--I'm surprised your dad let you come on your own.

--I'm not on my own. Not here anyway. I told father I'd be meeting you in Montreal. And he has a friend in Vancouver, running a temple near there. He was actually most worried about Toronto.

--Yeah. Lots of Japanese out there in Vancouver. I was going to try for the PhD in Women's Studies at UBC when I'm done here...Where are you going to stay in Toronto?

--I haven't decided yet. A hostel, maybe...

--So, what? Is he sure he wants to trust the notorious lesbian Sei Sato with his innocent only daughter?

--He always has trusted you. When have you ever hurt me?

--Well, if you say so...

--It's the truth!

Sei seemed to think about that, then added:

--I still have Yumi's frog. You can tell her that.

In Narita, when we saw her off, Yumi had given Sei a stuffed toy frog as a going-away present, or rather a coming-back present, because the word kaeru for "frog" sound like the verb "to come back."

--How is Yumi, anyway?

--All right...she's Rosa Chinensis now, of course...

--Really...little Yumi Rosa Chinensis. Wow. Kind of hard to imagine...

--She misses you too.

--Yeah, well...

--More than ever probably. She doesn't have Sachiko any more either.

--Yeah, I guess so...Sachiko must have graduated this spring, right?

--She got married this spring.

--Already?

--The day after she graduated.

--Wow...that quick...they didn't mess around...I don't suppose she invited Yumi or you?

--No. Actually...a few days before Sachiko and Rei graduated, I asked Yumi if she wanted to go out after school, and she said no. It seems Sachiko took her aside and begged her, "Please don't come to my wedding." It didn't surprise me. It was a farce. Everybody knows it. She didn't want Yumi to see that, and I can't say I blame her...

--And that's why Yumi didn't want to go out?

--Yes and no...the way Yumi explained it, Sachiko had invited her over to her parents' house that evening so she could "say goodbye to her properly." Sachiko's words, not Yumi's or mine. I asked, "But isn't she busy with the wedding?" Yumi had asked her the same thing, and Sachiko had said something like, "Don't worry about that." The thing was...

--Uh-huh?

--The next day when I saw Yumi, she had let her hair down. Her ponytails were gone. I asked her why she had changed her hair. She said something like, "Oh come on! They looked kind of childish anyway! We're going to be seniors after Easter, right?" Then she changed the subject. I never brought it up again.

--Hm.

--A few days after that was graduation day. Yumi and Sachiko got their photo taken together, and Sachiko said goodbye to us all. And that was that. None of us has seen her since then.

--Not even Yumi?

--Not that I know of. I don't think so.

I had been looking down into my lap as I finished my story, and looked up at Sei. Her expression and turned dark and pensive as she stared behind me out the window.

I asked Sei then, trying to change the subject:

--So when are you coming back?

--What? To Japan?...Hm. Good question.

--You'll be home for the New Year at least, right?

--I might. If I can't think of a good reason to stay here.

--You don't want to?

Sei pulled a face.

--Not really, no.

--But why...?

--Don't I want to see my folks at New Year's? What's the point? My mom and I never got along, and I hardly ever saw my dad even when I was living at home, so it's no great loss not to see him now.

Her own words must have sounded harsh even to her, because she smiled a bit apologetically and went on:

--You know, you're lucky, Shimako.

--Am I?

--You actually have a dad.

--Hm.

--You know, you and Yumi are welcome here any time you like.

--It's not the same.

--No, I guess not...I do miss Yumi, too. Real shame she couldn't come as well. I feel bad...you'll have to get her a really good souvenir.

--I asked her. She laughed and said, "Bring me back a polar bear!"

--Oh yeah? What about Yoshino?

--A Montreal Expos cap. She loves Warren Cromartie...

--You're a bit late. They've moved to Washington DC.

--Oh. I see. I wouldn't have known...

--Tell you what--you can get Yoshino a Canadiens hockey sweater instead. Actually, I'll buy you one to give to Yumi too...

--If you like...

There the conversation dropped, and Sei looked out the window again, presently muttering, more to herself than to me, something like:

--Osti de bug...

--What?

--I said--

Sei stopped herself, apparently thinking better of it. She took a deep breath.

--She took it that hard, eh? Sachiko marrying, I mean.

--She tried not to let it show, but still... I dare say so. She's a bit better now she has Toko, but...

--Toko Matsudaira?

--Yes...

Sei looked a little puzzled.

--So what? You chopped liver or...

--No, no, that's not it...Toko's her petite soeur now, I said.

--Huh...weren't they cousins or something? Toko and Sachiko...

--I think so. Second cousins...

--Maybe Toko reminds her of Sachiko. Ever think of that?

--Not as such. Sachiko was always very mature. Toko isn't nearly mature enough.

Sei laughed as I said that.

--Oh yeah?

--They're quite a pair to watch, I added. Yumi teases Toko mercilessly. I think you've been a bad influence on Rosa Chinensis.

--Glad to hear it!

I believed her. Sei was visibly relieved, her dark expression from before dissipating at last.

--Actually, Sei added, that reminds me...did Yumi tell you what exams she's taking?

--She's not sure yet. Yumi's grades are only average. She says she might just go to Lillian...

Sei pulled a face.

--Oh God, no...

--Why shouldn't she? I asked. You did.

--And ran out screaming after less than a year...look, I only went to Lillian U because I bombed the TOEFL the first time around, so I took a couple of semesters out to study English and try again, and enrol at McGill after Christmas. The English lit was a way to force myself to learn to read English properly. Not to mention I was practically teaching myself. Seriously--you can tell Yumi this as well--I wasn't learning anything at Lillian U. It's a finishing school for rich princesses. Don't go there if you have any ambition in life. Yoko and Eriko never gave the place a second thought...

--You know, Sei, it's not as if you were ever in want.

Sei, realizing what she'd said, backed off a bit:

--I guess. Though give my dad this, he's a self-made man...

--Hm.

--Something you got to realize, Sei said. Lillian's not the real world. That soeur stuff especially--that was just a game. I never took it seriously and neither should you. At some point you have to grow up and leave all that behind. Trust me, you'll feel a lot better when you do. You can't live in the past. You've got to get away from all that, and the sooner the better. You couldn't pay me to go back to Lillian Academy for five minutes. Why the hell should I go back to Japan on the New Year? I've come home! I used to dream about living somewhere like this... When I said we could get married, I wasn't kidding. I mean, I was kidding about actually wanting to marry you...but we could...

--You must like it here very much.

--Uh, yeah. That obvious, huh?

Sei laughed as she said that, but a bit too quickly she sobered and added:

--Just saying it's not for everyone.

--What's wrong? Should I not come?

--No, no. Why would I mind? This is a great city, you'll love it here. I'll help you if you want, what the hell. It's not like I don't want you around. I like you a lot, Shimako, I always have. It's just... you'll have to make your own life for yourself. Of course, I'm sure you will. I was actually a little worried about that. Don't come here just for your old grande soeur, for God's sake. I'm not worth crossing an ocean for...

--Don't worry, please, I said at last. I know you mean well, but that really isn't the reason.

--Actually, you know what? added Sei. You still haven't told me why you want to come here.

--I might ask the same question. You were studying English and American Literature at Lillian. Why would you go to Canada to study that?

--I wouldn't. At McGill I'm in Women's Studies, which is what I really wanted to do in the first place. Lots of feminists write in French, Beauvoir, Kristeva, Irigaray...so whatever looks interesting in French I try to read for the practice. Look at it this way. Where else in the world am I going to be able to learn English and French at once?

--I suppose.

--Actually, Shimako?

--Yes?

--Is he really okay with this? Your dad I mean.

Now I was the one smiling apologetically, saying:

--I've told you about my father, haven't I? About how I told him I wanted to go to a convent when I was twelve, so he sent me to Lillian just like that. I suppose I am spoiled rotten...

--I mean...you're his only daughter. I thought he'd want you to stay home and marry someone so you all could keep the temple going... Lillian's one thing, but McGill might as well be the moon for all...

--I found it odd too. I asked him permission to go, and he said, of course, without hesitating. What did he tell me? He'd always thought I was looking for something, and if it wasn't at Lillian I'd found it, well...he told me, if one is serious about finding the Way--he meant of Buddhism--it's a small price to pay to have to walk all the way to India to bring it back home...

I couldn't help noticing a billboard on the side of the nearby freeway, with a picture of an old French Canadian man who looked like a priest and the slogan: IL иTAIT UN FOI.

--Or cross the Atlantic Ocean, I added.

--The Atlantic? Don't you mean the Pacific?

--No...I'm sorry, I'm not making too much sense...Mother Superior had me and Yumi and Yoshino in her office. I don't remember what, some Yamiyurikai business. Somebody must have told her I was going to Canada, because she asked me about it after she'd dismissed the others. In catechism they told us about Ste. Marguerite Bourgeoys and the Congregation of Notre Dame, who founded Lillian. Do you remember?

--I remember the comic books about her they used to sell in the school bookstore in Lillian Elementary about her, yeah. I think I still have one in my room at home--my parent's house, I mean. How Marguerite was called by Mary to do God's work, crossed the Atlantic a zillion times, converted the Indians and built the first school in Montreal with her bare hands...or some darn thing, I don't remember all the specifics... but yeah, sure, I remember the basic gist. So?

--Anyway, Mother Superior told me that the first church Ste. Marguerite Bourgeoys had founded was still there in Montreal. Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours. She'd always wanted to make the pilgrimage herself, but she never found the time or opportunity, and she isn't well enough now to do it, so she asked me to go in her place. She asked me to bring her back a rosary from the church.

--And that's why you want to come to Montreal? To find God?

Sei suddenly burst out laughing, as if that was the funniest thing she'd ever heard. I wasn't amused at all.

--Excuse me, why do you think that's funny?

--Oh man...do you have a lot to learn about this place! Look outside. You think I live in a wooden fort in the wilderness like Marguerite?

--Don't talk rot! Of course not! It just seemed to me...

--No, no! I didn't actually think so, it's just...

Once Sei had composed herself, she went on:

--Every year on June 24 they have the Saint-Jean-Baptiste Day parade in downtown Montreal. It used to be for the feast of Saint John the Baptist--he's the patron saint of Quebec, or something--but now it's basically Quebec Day. La FЙte nationale du QuИbec, they call it. The parade this year was on rue Notre-Dame, in the old city. I wanted to see it, so I arrived at eleven to get a seat on the steps of the Notre-Dame Basilica, because the parade was to start at noon. Well, it didn't start at noon, and finally I got bored and said, you know what? I've never been inside Notre-Dame Basilica. What the hell, I'll go in and have a look. Then I remembered it was the feast of the patron saint of Quebec, so I thought, I just hope there isn't mass, because then I won't be able to go in. Then what am I going to do? So I go up to the door, and there's a lady at a desk inside. I say, "Can I visit the church? Are they having mass right now?" And she said, "There's no mass today." I said, "Why not? It's St-Jean right?" She said "Yes, it is, but the priest isn't here." "Where is he?" I asked. "He has the day off," she told me. "He's in his cottage in the Laurentians!"

Sei started laughing again, though not so loudly, and added:

--And even I was thinking, Wow! If Mother Superior'd been there the priest'd have his head handed to him!

--I take it Canadians aren't very religious then?

--Hell no. Not any more, anyway. This town's full of churches. They have one of the biggest churches in the world here, Oratoire Saint-Joseph on mont Royal. It's empty. They all are. Nobody goes to mass here but pensioners and Third World immigrants. I still can't believe I had to pay four dollars just to go into the Basilica. That's how few people go to mass on a Sunday. So I don't know what Mother Superior told you, but if you're expecting everyone to be praying to Ste. Marguerite every day before breakfast, you're in for a real shock. Suits me just fine, by the way. More bullshit I never want to be bothered with again...

I bit my tongue. I had never liked it when Sei mocked religion, any religion. Part of it, I suppose, was my own upbringing, but not all. It was as if Sei was trying to deceive me, or herself. I knew about Shiori Kubo. I supposed it must have been her spirituality that had drawn Sei to Shiori, her virtue--not to say her innocence. I knew it was Yumi's goodheartedness and innocence that Sei had always loved.

--Actually, said Sei, sobering up, you should be able to see the Oratoire about now. See the mountain up ahead? That's mont Royal.

Sei indicated out the window. I looked out to see the mountain, covered in trees just now turning to their autumn colours. Clearly visible on the slope was the Oratoire's silver dome. That was my first sight of Montreal.

---

At the end of the train line we got out, and Sei led me through the gate and towards a corridor of glass, at last bringing me to the entrance to Lucien-L'Allier station. I looked around the cavernous station, a work of clean brown brick, as we went down two separate escalators that were so long as to seem never-ending.

--Pretty cool, huh? said Sei. Every station's a little different. They've prettied up the metro with modern art and stuff...pretty cool. I'll show you more when we come to it.

At last we made it to the turnstile, where Sei showed a card to the attendant at the ticket booth, and passed him some coins, indicating me.

--Est avec moИ, elle. Une adulte.

--Ouan.

The attendant let us through the turnstile, and I followed Sei downstairs to the track. Across from us a black sign with white lettering announced where we were: LUCIEN-L'ALLIER. An orange sign above us read DIRECTION HENRI-BOURASSA.

--Where are we going exactly? I asked.

--My place, near Beaudry station. This train doesn't go right there. We'll have to change trains at Berri-UQAM, so don't get too comfy. 'Course, the seats are plastic, so that's not easy. They built the metro in the Sixties. It shows. I guess it was supposed to look futuristic, but it's a Sixties sort of futuristic, like something out of Star Trek.

--Is that bad?

--No. I like it. Retro is good.

--Hm.

--I'm not boring you, am I?

--No, not at all, I replied.

Admittedly I might have been more enthusiastic if I'd had more sleep, but Sei was clearly relishing the role of tour guide, and I hadn't the heart to tell her to stop.

--It's just...you make it sound like the city's living in the past, I added. I thought you said living in the past was bad...

Sei chuckled.

--"Very well, I contradict myself."

On the walls of the station were several advertisements, and I read them while we waited. Two in particular on the other side of the track caught my eye, one reading:

FAITES-LE ю L'иGLISE!

and another:

97 POUR CENT LE PENSENT. 3 POUR CENT LE FONT.

Sei noticed me reading them. She chuckled.

--I love those ads. "Do it in church!"

--Um...do what exactly?

--Relax. It's a joke. The ad's for cellphones. Hm. Actually, using your cell in church really would be rude, wouldn't it?

A rumbling noise started coming from our left.

--There's our train, said Sei.

---

It actually took a couple of seconds more before the blue metro train arrived in the station. The train wasn't terribly crowded, and we easily found two empty seats. As we pulled out a recorded female voice announced the next station in French, in a tone both clear enough even for me to understand and somehow oddly comforting.

--Prochaine station, Bonaventure.

--But no, Sei went on, I love the metro. One weekend I had nothing to do and I was short on cash, so I couldn't afford to do anything that cost money, so I decided to see if I couldn't stop and look around each and every station on the metro in a single day. I had my pass, so it didn't cost me a cent. Spent the whole day there.

Sei stopped there and looked at me for a long moment, and smiled sheepishly.

--Call me crazy.

--Station Bonaventure.

--You're crazy, I said, smiling back, giggling.

Sei couldn't help giggling too.

--Prochaine station, Square-Victoria.

When she was done she went on:

--Square-Victoria's got a real MИtropolitain sign outside the station, like they have out front of the Paris metro stations. I should show it to you...

--If you like, I said.

--Actually, Sei said, how long are you in town? Three days?

--Four, counting today. My flight to Toronto's on Sunday night.

--We should figure out where you want to go. You said you wanted to look at universities...English ones or French?

--English. I have enough English to pass the TOEFL, but French...I don't think I have much chance with the French universities...

--Station Square-Victoria.

--Okay. That leaves McGill and Concordia. And honestly, Concordia's not worth crossing an ocean for. What the hell. I'll show you McGill. McGill we can get out of the way in an afternoon. I mentioned Star Trek just now. Wait until I show you the William Shatner student union...

--Really?

--Really. He graduated from McGill.

--Well!

--Prochaine station, Place-d'Armes.

--The rest of the time...what am I gonna do with you until Sunday, eh?...We just had the Thanksgiving holiday here. Just in time to see the leaves turn. You still like that sort of thing, right? If you like we can go up mont Royal, or Parc Jean-Drapeau. Maybe the Jardin botanique, too. I can show you the Olympic Stadium...

--Actually, I wouldn't mind seeing a few of the churches in town, I said.

Sei pulled a face.

--Is that all right? I asked.

--Not my thing, is all. But I guess you're under orders from Mother Superior...

--I wouldn't say that. But all the same...

--Station Place d'Armes.

--Hm. Well, there's the Oratoire Saint-Joseph...actually, the Basilique Notre-Dame is here at Place d'Armes. There and Chinatown. We can go there too if you like...

--What about Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours?

--Oh, that? That's in the old city. At Champ-de-Mars. You'll just die if I don't take you there, won't you?

Sei was starting to get on my nerves again.

--I was actually looking forward to it, yes. Why don't you want me to go?

--Prochaine station, Champ-de-Mars.

--It just...it reminds me too much of Lillian. Okay? Anyway, I hardly ever go to Vieux-MontrИal. It's a tourist trap even during the summer, sort of place you go so you can pretend you're in Paris. Anyway, you got here pretty late in the year, so a lot of the stuff there's closed for the winter already. Bon-Secours has a museum, but I don't know if it's closed yet or...

--I've never been in Paris. My year we went to Rome. Look, it's worth a try, right? If you really don't want to go, I can go on my own...

--Station Champ-de-Mars.

The doors opened. I had just about had it with Sei. I stood up, with half a mind to step off the train right then and there. Sei must have thought I really was going to run off, because she rose as well.

--Okay, okay! I'm sorry...actually, we could go to MarchИ Bonsecours, and you could go to the church if you want...how's that sound?

To try to stop me from running off, I thought, Sei had grabbed my hand. The doors closed again. She didn't let it go.

--Prochaine station, Berri-UQAM.

Sei was looking me in the eye, an imploring look in her own eyes that I'd never seen before. Almost panic. She gripped my hand tightly, as if she was afraid I'd disappear if she let me go.

--Just don't run away on me like that. Okay?

--I'm sorry, I said.

And I was. Sei slowly let go of my hand.

--What's MarchИ Bonsecours? I asked

--The old market near the church. It's all converted into fancy boutiques.

--How fancy?

--Really fancy. Trust me, you can't afford a darned thing in there.

--Good! That's the best kind!

--How materialistic of you.

For some reason, that struck me as terribly funny, funnier than it was probably intended to be. I burst out laughing.

--I think Yumi's been a bad influence on you, Sei added, laughing too.

--Has she?

We both started giggling again, until we heard:

--Station Berri-UQAM.

--That's our stop, said Sei. Come on.

---

Sei and I got out of the train, and I followed her to the escalator downstairs. Just in front of us, as we stepped off, was yet another escalator going down, obviously to another metro line; a yellow sign over the escalator read LONGUEUIL-UNIVERSITи-DE-SHERBROOKE.

Sei walked over to the new escalator and hunched down a bit just before it, indicating that I should do likewise. When I did I saw the passageway to the next train, over which were hung several paintings which looked like nothing so much as random blobs of colour. Directly over the passageway was a slightly faded grey sign with a logo of stick figures standing in a circle, and the slogan

RECREATION--SCIENCE--CULTURE

BIENVENUE ю TERRE DES HOMMES

WELCOME TO MAN AND HIS WORLD

--What did I tell you about that art? said Sei. Really Sixties...

--What is Man and His World?

--Oh, you mean Expo? Yeah. It was an exhibition in 1967. Really, really big deal. They built the metro for all the people who came for it. That train goes to Parc Jean-Drapeau, where they held it. They still got a few of the buildings from the Expo at the park. I can show them to you, maybe. Biosphere...the casino...you're eighteen now, right?

--I'll pass on the casino, thank you.

--Oh, you're no fun any more.

Sei had the good sense to laugh as she said that, before going on:

--But yeah, so after the Expo I guess they kept the sign, so you'd think it was still going on. Maybe they are living in the past. Or in denial.

--Shouldn't we go down the escalator?

--No, we want the green line. It's this way.

We stood up and walked onto the green line platform. Berri-UQюM wasn't nearly as large as Lucien-L'Allier, but for all that its roof was easily higher than that of Lillian's chapel. Above the tunnel where the trains emerged was an enormous painted-glass picture of what I thought were two men and a woman, though the painting was more than a little abstract, making it hard to tell their genders, much less who they might be. It reminded me of the sort of painting one might find behind an altar in a modern church. Perhaps it was the Holy Family.

We stood together by the wall of the platform; standing was more likely to keep me from dozing than sitting, even if there had been any spare seats on the platform. I decided to ask Sei if she knew who the people were in the painting, to make conversation and keep myself awake.

--I'm not sure...I think the woman's Jeanne Mance and one of the guys is Lord Maisonneuve. Don't know the other guy's name. Founders of the city, basically.

I noticed a green sign reading DIRECTION HONORи-BEAUGRAND.

--Who is HonorИ Beaugrand?

--Folklorist. Collected folktales all over French Canada. Like the chasse-galerie.

Sei looked at me just then, and added:

--You know that story, right? They told it to us at Lillian Elementary.

--I didn't go to Lillian for elementary. I never got to hear it.

--Point.

Sei leaned against the wall, shutting her eyes, as if trying to remember the details of the story. Suddenly her eyes flicked open, her face drained of all expression.

--The chasse-galerie are a group of men who have sold their souls to the devil. Often they are lumberjacks, working hundreds of miles from civilization, spending the New Year in northern camps far from their villages and the ones they love. The devil comes to offer them a deal. He will make it possible for them to go home to their loved ones for New Year's Eve and be back at camp by morning, by allowing them to fly home in an enchanted canoe. There are two conditions which the men must meet; if they do not, the devil will take their souls. Condition one: during their flight, under no circumstances must their canoe touch a church. Condition two: no matter what they do, none of the men in the canoe must utter the name of God.

Then she looked back at me.

--Those conditions weren't as easy as they sound. Because the church was the tallest building in your typical village, so you would have had to fly pretty high to fly halfway across Quebec and not touch a church steeple. That and lumberjacks swear like sailors, and it's pretty hard to swear in Canadian French without blaspheming. All their cuss words are the names of holy objects, tabernacle, host, chalice and so on, or people, like Christ or the Virgin Mary, so if you're really pissed about something you wind up saying something like...

Suddenly she drew a deep breath and appeared to break into a fury, yelling at the top of her voice so everybody in the station could hear:

--Osti de maudit de tabar-NAK de CHRIST de saint-sacra-MENT...

Sei started kicking and screaming at the wall for good measure. People started to stare at her. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry or beg her to stop.

--...de BAPTйME de CбLISSE de CIBOIRE de sainte-VIARGE!

Sei suddenly stopped as quickly as she'd begun, and grinned at me.

--Awake yet?

I started laughing nervously, while all the people who'd been staring at us immediately began to pretend they hadn't noticed a thing. Sei started to laugh too.

--I learned how to do that pretty quick! she added.

Once we were done laughing, though, I had to ask:

--And?

--And what?

--Does the devil get the souls of the lumberjacks?

Just then our train arrived and pulled up to the platform.

--Depends on the lumberjacks, said Sei.

We stepped into the train and found our seats as the train slowly pulled out and under the stained-glass towards HonorИ-Beaugrand.

---

--Station Beaudry.

--Okay, said Sei. Get your stuff, and I'll show you Jacob's Ladder.

Jacob's Ladder? I thought. The doors of the metro opened, and I grabbed my backpack and followed Sei on to the platform. The doors shut behind us and the metro went on its way. As it pulled out I thought I heard a chord being played.

--What's that tune? I asked.

--What, you mean when the metro pulls out? Just the noise of the machinery on the train, said Sei. It sounds like music, though, yeah. Pretty cool, eh?...Okay. This way.

--What do you mean by Jacob's Ladder? I asked, following Sei into a passage marked with a sign reading SORTIE.

--That's what I call it. That, or the Stairway to Heaven. You can call it what you like.

--Is it another piece of art?

--Not exactly, no.

I climbed the short flight of steps after Sei and looked to my right.

What Sei had called "Jacob's ladder" wasn't a ladder, of course, or even a stairway as such. Leading from the platform of Beaudry station to the turnstile far above was a long grey tunnel containing a long moving sidewalk, of the sort one sees in airports. Several people, some walking, some standing, were taking the sidewalk up and down. An old woman in a veil--an Arab, I guessed--caught my eye as she let the left-hand moving sidewalk slowly lead her down to the platform just before she stepped off. A couple of well-groomed young men, who had gotten out just ahead of us, stepped onto the right-hand sidewalk and began walking up. I hesitated a moment.

--After you, said Sei. I'll catch you if you faint from exhaustion.

She was behind me, so I wasn't sure whether she was joking or not. It took a little while to get to the top, long enough that when I got to the top I was no longer paying attention and almost did trip. Fortunately I regained my footing, and on reaching the top I walked through the turnstile and up another short flight of walked through the door of the station, which was marked RUE STE-CATHERINE.

The first thing I noticed on the opposite side of the street was a liquor store, apparently called SAQ du Village.

--Check ben Гa! said Sei from behind me.

I turned around to see Sei dramatically gesturing toward the door to Beaudry station, which I now saw had pillars in rainbow colours just above the door. It was then that I realized what "village" I was in.

--See that? First time I saw that, I thought, welcome to heaven!

---

We didn't have that much farther to walk. Sei lived in a modest townhouse on rue Panet, a couple of blocks from the station. I couldn't help but notice a skyscraper at the far end of the street, with a logo on it I'd never seen before. As we walked up to her door Sei saw me looking at it.

--Radio-Canada building. TV station.

Sei let herself in the front door. Once in the hall I could smell something cooking.

--Madeleine, chus revenue! T'es-tu lЮ?

--Ouais, j'arrive.

After a minute or so ("My landlady's old, she's kind of slow; don't worry, she's coming," said Sei), Sei's landlady came into the hall.

--Salut, Sei. C'est-tu ta blonde, elle?

--J't'ai dis, est pas ma blonde! Est une amie, juste. Shimako, this is Madeleine Cadieux, my landlady.

Madeleine Cadieux was a plump French Canadian woman--I never asked her her age, but I suppose she was in her sixties. She smiled at me and offered her hand, which I accepted, bowing slightly as I did.

--Je suis heureuse de faire votre connaissance, I said in my carefully practiced French. Je me prИsente: Shimako Todo.

It must have sounded rehearsed, because she laughed and replied:

--Fais-toИ-z-en pas, j'te mangerai pas! MoИ, c'est Madeleine. Entre, entre, assis-toИ...Shimako, n'est-ce-pas? J'vais faire des hot-dogs pour dНner, tu veux-tu que'qu'chose Ю manger...?

I knew she had to be speaking French, but I had never learned to speak it all that well, and Mme Cadieux spoke so quickly, and her Canadian accent was so thick, that she was all but incomprehensible. Sei took pity on me.

--ю parle pas franГais, elle.

--Do you speak English? said Mme Cadieux.

--Yes...I speak a little...a bit...

--Do you want some lunch? I am making hot-dogs...

--No...thank you...I want...to sleep...I said as best I could, making a "pillow" out of my hands and resting my head on it.

--Laisse-la tranquille, said Sei, Ю vient d'arriver Ю Dorval du Japon, Ю l'a pas dormi...Ю veut crasher en haut, juste.

--Ah bon...pis toИ, Sei, tu veux-tu...

--Donne-moИ une minute, Madeleine, j'arrive.

--OK...bon dodo, Shimako!

---

Sei led me upstairs to her room.

--Smart move. That's why I've been putting on weight, Sei said. She keeps making me eat. I've had to learn to blow her off. Were you actually hungry though?

--No...I did nothing on the plane but eat...

--Figures...Okay, you'll be in here. You're the guest, you need a bed. I'll be on the couch in the living room.

--Will you be all right?

--It's a comfy couch, so yeah.

Sei led me into her room and put my hand luggage in a corner. I took off my backpack and looked around the room. Across from a double bed--Sei's, obviously--was a cheap combination wardrobe, mirror and dresser, with Sei's makeup sitting on the dresser beside some older perfumes and makeups that might easily have been there for thirty or forty years. Sei had put Yumi's frog sitting flush with the mirror.

On one wall was a picture of Our Lady, as well as another picture of the man I had seen on the billboard on the train from the airport.

--Apparently this is Mme Cadieux's old room--Madeleine's mother, I mean, said Sei. This is her mother's house. She moved back in to look after her mother before she died, and stayed here after she died. Oh yeah--guy on the wall's FrХre AndrИ, guy who built the Oratoire. Apparently he was a faith healer. Madeleine tells me to pray to him whenever I feel sick. 'Course, I never do...

--Isn't she married? I asked.

--Madeleine, you mean? Nah. She was, but the husband left her years ago, for...I dunno...some good-looking bimbo, was more or less what she told me. What'd she call her? Belle mais Иpaisse. Pretty but dumb. When Madeleine's father died her mother made her husband's pension go further by renting out Madeleine's old room. Now Madeleine makes her alimony go further by renting out her mother's old room.

--You know a lot about her, I said.

--She told me. She'll tell all her business to anyone who'll listen. She's an old woman, she's lonely, her friends are starting to die off. Hardly ever goes out any more except to go grocery shopping and go to funerals, or mass. Says she's got a brother, but he's in Toronto and never visits or even calls, even at Christmas. She has kids with the husband, but they're no help either. I think she needs the company as much as the money. Fine by me. Small price to pay for free French lessons and dirt-cheap rent in the Village.

--I thought you spoke French.

--Not really. Not like her. There's really no good way to learn, except to live here for a while. All the French I learned, when I had to learn to speak it for real, I learned from her. That, and TV.

--I see.

--We get on pretty well, actually. When I asked if it was all right for you to stay over, she said, "So, I'm going to meet your Japanese blonde, finally?" I said, "There aren't any blondes in Japan," then she laughed and said she meant my girlfriend. That's what she was asking me when you came in. "Is this girl your girlfriend?"

--There's really nobody else?

--Hm?

--You're not seeing anybody right now?

Sei pulled a face.

--I don't like French Canadian girls. They're ugly.

She must have decided that by itself that would be a very lame excuse, because she went on:

--Anyway, not like I could really stay here if I did. She told me upfront, you pick someone up at a bar and you try bringing her here, out you go. You're actually the first visitor I've had here. Just now she was joking, I think, but it actually took a while to convince her you were just a friend from school.

--I see.

--Not that I blame her really. She's rented to too many assholes who'd bring a new boy home every night, or try to. Truth is she doesn't like gay people very much.

--Does she know about you? I had to ask.

--Yeah. She figured it out pretty quick.

--But then, why...?

--Because I behave. Helps I'm a girl, I guess. She tells me I'm the best lodger she's ever had. Of course that's usually after she makes some crack about les crisses de tapettes--the goddamn faggots--making it too expensive to live around here, causing trouble and running the place into the ground, then she'll realize she's talking to me and say, "Oh dear, I don't mean you, Sei!"

--You don't take it personally?

--No, I don't take it personally. After she's done with the gays she'll start in on the Muslims, who take everybody's jobs and won't speak French...Look, she's good people really. She's old. Old people don't like things to change. She was living here long before this neighbourhood became the Village. Besides, she never gets out any more. All she does is eat and watch TV. No family, no friends. What else is she going to talk about?

Sei said that very firmly; I wasn't sure whether it was so much to underline the truth of what she'd said, or just to declare the subject closed.

--Sorry to talk your ear off like that, she went on. It's eleven-thirty. When do you want me to give you a shake?

--Hm. I don't know...four o'clock, maybe?

--Okay. You sleep. If you want anything, I'll be downstairs trying to read Atwood and not eat too many hot dogs, and thinking where to take you for supper. Nice thing about this town is you won't go hungry. Trust me, there's more to eat on rue Saint-Denis than hot dogs. Sweet dreams...

Sei walked out of the room and shut the door. I lay down on the bed, not bothering to undress or even pull the covers over me. So Sei was alone. Of course I had had no idea what Sei's life was like in Canada. Then again, Sei had never talked much about herself even in the old days at Lillian. She had only told me and Yumi about Shiori Kubo because everybody knew about Sei and Shiori, so there was no point in keeping it a secret from us.

Just then I realized where I had seen that light in her eyes before. I'd seen it, sometimes, when she was teasing Yumi.

Did Sei really think I had become beautiful?

For that matter, did Sei really believe she was in heaven? It occurred to me that Sei must be terribly lonely. She had no other Japanese people to talk to as far as I knew. I was the first to visit her here. Sei must have been overjoyed to see me. I had to wonder whether just now Sei had really been talking about Madeleine or about herself.

I slept more lightly than I thought I would; whether it was excitement or the side effects of the coffee I'd drunk on the plane I don't know.

I dreamt I was back on the moving sidewalk, moving up towards the light of the street. Just then, on the left sidewalk, I saw Sachiko pass by me, in her old Lillian school uniform, a defeated look on her face. I looked behind me to find Sei, but she wasn't behind me after all. I turned back to where Sachiko had been, but she had disappeared into the dark of the station below. Coming slowly down the sidewalk was Yumi following Sachiko down into the dark. Just behind her was Sei.

TSUZUKU 


	2. Chapter 2

Suis le funk baby pour un été à Montréal

Suis le funk baby pour un été à Montréal

It is very rarely that I have slept in the city, so it was very easy for the city to awaken me at last, in the form of loud music from a car driving by. Sei's bedroom had a window that looked out onto the street, and when I awoke it was rapidly getting dark. I had not bothered to pull the covers of the bed over myself, and the first thing I noticed upon wakening was how cold Sei's room was.

I felt I was alone.

---

Les filles du lys de montagne, chapter two

---

A Maria-sama ga miteru (Marimite) fanfic by Paul Corrigan

---

Marimite concept devised by Oyuki Konno

---

For as long as she had been my petite soeur, Noriko Nijo had been in the habit of coming to Shoguji temple to help me and my father, as often as she got the chance to do so during the summer, and on the weekends during the autumn while it was still warm enough and enough pilgrims were coming through for it to be worthwhile for her to come. Her great aunt never objected; she knew where Noriko was, and Noriko was not in any clubs, so there were far worse places Noriko could have spent her spare time. My father never objected either. He liked Noriko very much, and during the crush of pilgrims and sightseers Shoguji saw in the summer, particularly at Obon, my father was glad of the help. She was an enthusiastic worker, and by the second summer, she was able to tell any pilgrim as much about Shoguji as I could. I soon noticed, as well, that many of the pilgrims appreciated her beauty, her perfectly crafted features making her appear, when in kimono, like nothing so much as a Japanese doll, and I sometimes wondered if Father enjoyed her beauty as well.

By the weekend in the October of my senior year, a few days before I was to go to Canada, Noriko and I were left with little to do but sweep away the falling leaves from the temple paths. It was still warm enough that when we were done, we could sit together at the top of the steps leading up the hill to the sanctuary and contemplate the turning leaves together, a kaleidoscope of yellows, reds, and greens. It was a pity, I suppose, that we saw so few people at that time of year. The colours were much the same as at Lillian, but at Shoguji it was as if the trees were making this beautiful show just for us. On days like this Father would sometimes join us, but more often than not he was inside, dealing with temple business or studying the sutras, so that day, as so often, Noriko and I were alone, sometimes talking of everything and nothing and sometimes just sitting in silence, her head on my shoulder, or my arm around her waist, or her hand in mine.

When I was a child I dreamt of becoming a nun, living a life of silent contemplation of God together with other girls. Now that I was older, I had to wonder if it was anything like this. God created everything in nature, giving Adam and Eve all they needed in Eden. I thought that God and nature must surely be the same.

If one is watching for someone, it is quite easy from the top of the steps to see any pilgrims coming along the paths. That day, however, Noriko and I were expecting nobody, and it was only the clear sound of footsteps up the long wooden staircase to the main sanctuary that brought me to myself. I rose at once, and as I had been taught saluted our visitor with:

--Greetings, pilgrim.

--I wanted to spend quality time alone with my oneesama! Why do we have to go on our big date to Rosa Gigantea's temple?

These were Toko Matusdaira's first words upon seeing Shoguji.

--I've never seen it, said Yumi Fukuzawa. I thought it would be nice.

--Rosa Chinensis! Toko! What a pleasant surprise! I said.

--Good day, Rosa Gigantea, Yumi replied, bowing to us when she and Toko got to the top of the steps.

--Sorry if we're intruding, said Toko automatically, in a tone of voice betraying no enthusiasm about being there, and bowed a bit too quickly. Noriko rose from where she was sitting, and gave Toko an unpleasant look.

--Are you indeed? said Noriko.

--Oh, no, I said, you're not intruding at all. Did you want to see the temple, or just some tea? I know you've come a long way...

--Oh no, we couldn't possibly...Yumi began.

--I am a little thirsty, finished Toko without hesitation.

--I'll go get the tea, said Noriko.

So Noriko went inside, and Yumi, Toko and I sat for a few moments in silence at the top of the steps. Between her duties as Rosa Chinensis and her studying (with mixed results) for college exams, Yumi had little spare time any more, so as she sat beside me she took the opportunity to relax and appreciate the view. Toko sat on Yumi's other side, clearly bored, looking hither and thither for something to occupy her attention until Noriko arrived with the tea.

--I meant to ask you, Toko, I asked her, mostly to make conversation. Rosa Chinensis tells me you went to Canada on vacation last year. I'm going there soon to look at universities. Why don't you tell me about it?

--Canada? said Toko, looking over at me, raising an eyebrow. You're going there? Heavens, why? I hate Canada. What could I tell you? I've tried to block it out.

--Was it that bad? said Yumi. Why? I was jealous. I've never been to Canada. Actually, before I went to Italy I'd never been out of Japan. You're very lucky...

--You're very easily impressed, oneesama, said Toko. I thought I was going to be going skiing in the Rocky Mountains like all my friends have, but oh no. I don't know what I did or said to deserve it, but my lunatic father decided to sentence the entire family to a week in Quebec City. Never again. It's a huge tourist trap--I'd have had more to do at Tokyo Disneyland. The food was awful, not to mention the waiters were all stupid French Canadian peasants who didn't speak a word of Japanese. Ugly too. I swear, there wasn't one good-looking boy in the whole city. And then my father insists on dragging us to every church in the place. Like Notre-Dame-des-Victoires, the first church in Canada or something like that...oh good Lord, the tackiest church I'd ever seen. The nuns'd be ashamed to have the chapel at Lillian decorated like that. The last straw was when he wanted to go to some place in the middle of nowhere, Sainte-Anne-de-whatsitsname...My mother and I wound up leaving him to it and spending the rest of the week at the mall with Nanami. Nanami's my cousin. She's at Laval, the university there. Her dad made her go there. He's as crazy as my father. Nanami hates Quebec City too.

--Um, said Yumi.

--But wasn't it nice to see your cousin? I offered.

Toko seemed to think about that for a moment before answering:

--I guess...I hadn't seen Nanami for a while, so it was nice to have some quality time with her. We get on pretty well. She speaks French too, so I could let her do the talking. That, and there was this place near our hotel that had the best toast in the world...

--I'm not going there to eat, I said, trying not to laugh. Toko's childishness is amusing, sometimes.

--Well, no, Rosa Gigantea, I didn't think so...I wouldn't go all the way there just for toast. Seriously, Nanami even told me, don't go to university there...

--I'm not going to Quebec City at all, I said. I won't have time, and even if I did, my French isn't good enough. I am going to Montreal. Did you see anything in Montreal?

Toko shrugged.

--Only the airport and what I could see on the freeway as we sped by in Father's rental car. I saw a huge sports stadium that looked like a spaceship from a bad sci-fi movie. That's all I remember. Why?

--The tea is ready, said Noriko from behind us.

We each took a cup of tea, and Noriko sat beside me with her own.

--Noriko, said Toko, a propos of nothing, do you really spend all your free time here?

--I happen to like it here, Toko, said Noriko. I wouldn't expect you to understand.

--You really ought to be some club or other...

--Yes, so you keep telling me, Noriko replied, clearly tired of the topic. I never liked being in school clubs. I'm not a joiner. Isn't the Yamiyurikai enough for you?

--What am I going to do with you, Noriko? You'll never find a petite soeur at this rate.

--I'll find a soeur at my convenience, not yours, Toko Matsudaira.

--You know, Noriko, said Yumi, Toko has a point. Haven't you even thought about it? You don't want to be rushing around like a nutcase at the end of junior year looking for one, like Rosa Foetida or me.

--Please, I said. She has plenty of time. My grande soeur didn't pick me until her senior year. These things can't be forced.

--Well, no, of course not, but if she was in a club of some kind, she'd be more likely to get to know a freshman she liked. Or start your own if you don't like any of the other clubs...

--Like what? A club for fans of Buddha-statues? said Toko. Don't make me laugh, oneesama!

--It's not as if I never meet first-years, Rosa Chinensis, said Noriko.

--I'm sorry, said Yumi. I just want to be able to graduate with no worries. You'll be Rosa Gigantea next year.

--If you're worried about the new Rosa Gigantea en bouton, I thought that's why we had student elections. Rosa Chinensis, shouldn't you be lecturing Toko and not me? I don't see her with a petite soeur yet either.

--I've at least got a short list, you know, said Toko. I'm waiting to see who wants the job badly enough. I'm not the sort to pick just anyone...

--Rosa Chinensis, I said at last, I didn't make Noriko my soeur because I thought the Yamiyurikai needed a Rosa Gigantea en bouton. Please leave her be. Noriko needn't have a petite soeur until she's ready for one. I didn't and neither did Sei.

At the mention of Sei's name Toko appeared to remember something.

--Oneesama, where did you say Sei Sato went to university again?

--McGill University, said Yumi. In Montreal, in Canada.

--So that's why you're going, is it? Toko asked me. To see her?

--Partly, yes, I said, glad of the chance to change the subject. I haven't seen her in quite a while. It's a shame Rosa Chinensis can't go too.

--What can I say? said Yumi, shrugging and laughing. I tried every trick in the book! Didn't help I'd just failed another mock exam...

--You know, Shimako, said Noriko (I had never made her call me oneesama), it would be very nice if you could go to university with her, wouldn't it?

--Well, yes it would. I like her very much, I began, turning to look at Noriko. That and it's a good university. She seems very happy there.

--You could see her everyday then, if you liked, couldn't you?

Noriko was pretending to be cheerful as she said that, but I could see now how forced her smile was.

--I suppose, yes...if we both wanted to, I mean...

--Well! said Toko from behind me.

I turned back to look at Toko as she rose and walked over, a triumphant smirk on her face, and bent over Noriko.

--I thought so. You really thought I didn't understand?

--I don't know what you're talking about, replied Noriko, her smile fading, not looking up.

--I'd be worried too, said Toko with a leer. It's not as if you're the only person who ever wanted to worship at Rosa Gigantea's temple!

It is fortunate that we have never, at least as long as I have been there, had anybody fall down the steps of Shoguji. The steps are high enough that anybody falling down their full length would surely be seriously injured. It was only by catching Noriko's arm at the last moment that I was able to prevent her from pushing Toko over or knocking her legs out from under her and sending her tumbling down the steps. As it was it was Noriko's tea cup that tumbled down the steps, making the only sound during the next few moments of silence.

--What did you say? I finally managed to ask.

--Toko, said Yumi sternly, I can't believe you said that! Take that back at once!

--It's true isn't it? Toko replied, no longer smiling, clearly unrepentant. Suguru told me all about Sei Sato. Even if he hadn't heard he could tell. She's just like him. You know that as well as I do, oneesama.

Noriko drew in a deep breath, visibly trying to restrain herself as best she could, before asking Toko:

--If you are as mature as you think you are, why do you have no shame?

Toko was silent a moment, not seeming to know how to respond, before drawing herself up to her full height, turning up her nose and announcing:

--I know when I'm not wanted. Good day!

With that Toko stormed down the steps, not bothering to look back at us. It was only then that I finally dared let go of Noriko's arm.

--I should go too, said Yumi, rising herself and bowing apologetically, an embarrassed smile on her lips.

--There's no hurry, said Noriko. The next bus isn't for another hour. She won't get far on foot.

--Please don't go, Rosa Chinensis. Noriko, I can't believe you would try to do such a thing to Toko. She could have wound up in the hospital. Go apologize!

--Why should I be the one to apologize?

That is what Noriko said, but they both must have realized I wanted some time alone with Yumi, because Noriko after a moment's hesitation capitulated and started down the steps after Toko, and Yumi sat back down and fixed her eyes on Toko as she slowly disappeared down the path, as if not daring to look at me.

--I'm really sorry about Toko, began Yumi at last. She had no right to...

--Rosa Chinensis, I said firmly, I know you mean well. In her heart I know Toko means well. But please leave Noriko to me, and ask Toko to do the same.

--I'm just afraid she'll be lonely.

--You don't know her like I do. She's a solitary person by nature. She's a lot like Sei that way.

--Maybe it's just as well I can't go with you after all.

--What? Why? Don't be silly! Don't you think she'd have been glad to see you too?

I admit I was upset, but not so much with Yumi as with Toko, and I certainly didn't blame Yumi for what Toko had said. What surprised me more was Yumi's answer:

--Shimako...that's exactly why. You must have been terribly jealous...

--Why? Because she teased you the way she did all the time? She did it because you were easy to tease. I never thought anything of that. Nobody did.

--Sachiko did.

--Sachiko--excuse me--affection like that didn't come naturally to her. Of course Sei thinks the world of you, I knew that. Why shouldn't she? I think the world of you...

--You were supposed to be Sei's petite soeur, not me!

--Yumi, I didn't own her! She never belonged to anybody but herself. And she never claimed to own me. We were very different from you and Sachiko. Actually, I think she did it to tease Sachiko too. Am I wrong?

--Shimako, you don't understand... I miss Sei too. A lot. Sometimes I miss her more than I do Sachiko. Isn't that awful?

I could hear the catch in Yumi's throat. She was right. I was sure by now there was something I didn't understand. I replied as gently as I could:

--Yumi, what's the matter? Tell me.

--I never told you about the day Sei graduated, did I?

--What about it?

Yumi took a deep breath and shut her eyes, as if to gather her strength before she went on:

--She was in her classroom--I must have surprised her, because she jumped a little when I came in. I asked her if there was anything I could do for her before she left. She wasn't really leaving, not then anyway, but I didn't know that. She said, "All right then, if you want to give me something, how about a kiss?" And she took me by the shoulders and said, "There's a good girl" or something like that, and moved her lips towards mine as if she was going to kiss me, very very slowly. So I stood there, not moving for a moment, and I couldn't help but think how really lovely she was. Then I realized what she was about to do, or what I thought she was about to do, and I panicked and ran to the other end of the room, which is probably what she expected me to do in the first place, because she said then, like it was another joke, "Oh dearie me, I'm just not going to me able to graduate without that kiss!" That's what she said, but--I could tell that she wasn't really joking. She really wanted that kiss. It was in her eyes...

The truth was I knew what she meant. I had noticed it long before Yumi did.

--The thing is...I had always wanted her to kiss me. But not as a joke, really to kiss me. And then...it was those eyes, full of love and desire, and for me--oh God, I know it sounds ridiculous, but it was true, I'd never seen her look at me like that--Sachiko never did, not like that--nobody'd ever looked at me like that--and before I knew what I was doing I ran back I went over and kissed her on the side of the mouth--right here.

Yumi turned towards me just then, pointing to the left side of her mouth. She laughed a little sadly before going on:

--You should have seen her face then. I'd never seen her eyes so wide. I guess it never even occurred to her I'd want to do that. Then what I realized what I'd done I was afraid again, and started to run off, but then she caught me and held me in her arms, and told me she loved me. And this time I could tell she really meant it...

--Yumi...

--Shimako, that was my first kiss!

Of course. I suppose I had known who it would be.

--I used to think of it a lot, Yumi went on. I still do, sometimes. I used to think of how I wanted to kiss her over and over and over again...and let her kiss me and hold me again. If I was going to let anybody at all do that, I wanted it to be her. But then I'd think, if I told Shimako that she'd never speak to me again. Shimako ought to have been the one to get her first kiss from Sei and have Sei hold her in her arms, not me...

--Yumi, I finally managed to say, why did you tell me that just now?

--I just thought...she must have been afraid too. Maybe because of Shiori, I don't know. I don't think she'd ever have kissed me herself. She must have been afraid to open her heart to anybody, unless she was absolutely sure that someone loved her too...

I said nothing. There was nothing that needed to be said.

--Will you ask her if she still has the frog I gave her? Yumi said.

--If you like.

--I gave it to her so I could tell her to come back, but I think I only bought it at all for her because I knew this time she really was going away and not coming back. Like Sachiko did. Now you're going too. I was always afraid you would...

I had often been together that year, as Rosa Gigantea, with the beautiful,  
popular and admired Rosa Chinensis, one of the best, even the teachers said, that Lillian had seen in a generation. But it had been a long time since I had been alone together with the child I had known and come to love when I came to Lillian. It was clearly Yumi before me now, trying not to cry or beg me not to abandon her, as Sachiko had done.

--Yumi...

--I'm sorry. I guess I'm the one who's afraid she'll be lonely.

I reached over to Yumi and gently stroked her hair, trying to sooth her. My hands went too easily through the unbound, short hair; I wished it had been the ponytails she had when I first met her.

--It's all right, Yumi! I said. I'll come back. I'm not dying!

It was that night that Noriko let go for the first time, crying out as if in her last agony.

That was the memory that woke me up completely. Once such thoughts enter my head, there is only two ways that I know of, when I am alone, to put them out of my mind. Only one is completely dependable. However, if I did that, I would become drowsy again, and I was sure it was high time I rose. It was already getting dark outside.

I could feel the rosary under my blouse around my neck, reminding me of the other. I silently said a decade of the Rosary.

When I was done I got up and dug into my backpack for my toothbrush and some clean clothes. Black pants and a light grey sweater, which I'd gotten in Italy. Not heavy enough for the weather--it was colder than I was used to for autumn--but it was probably the most fashionable outfit I had, and surely it would be passable for anywhere we might go.

The upstairs hall led to a couple of steps to a landing, and the landing to the stairs, all carpeted in a pattern dominated by brown. As I came down I was able to hear Sei and Madeleine downstairs talking animatedly in French. Even had I understood it, though, I don't think I could have made out their conversation until I was all the way down.

To my right as I reached the bottom of the stairs was the living room, with a sofa and two armchairs with wooden arms. On the arm of one was sitting a copy of The Handmaid's Tale, by Margaret Atwood, presumably the Atwood she had mentioned before. Behind the other was a cabinet with various bric-à-brac on the shelves, including dishes embossed with the numbers 25 painted in silver, presumably an anniversary present, possibly Madeleine's but just as likely her mother's. A fireplace was obviously the original focus of the room, but the real focal point of the room today was now the television, to my right by the front window. It was tuned to some French-language channel or other, which was just now broadcasting a news article about (according to the caption) a man called Boisclair. It was already past five o'clock.

Neither Sei nor Madeleine were watching the television; for that matter, as I turned to look into the small kitchen containing the table at which they were sitting drinking coffee and eating cookies, they did not even notice me at first, so caught up as they were in their conversation. Sei seemed to be hunting for a word.

--...ah, que c'est que ça encore? Jardin d'enfance? Kindergarten?

--La maternelle, said Madeleine.

--Ouais, c'est ça--le premier jour de la maternelle--on attend l'autobus en dehors de l'école, pis une fille m'a approché pis à m'a dit, sans même dire bonjour, "Êtes-vous une Américaine?"

--Américaine? T'as l'air ben Asiatique...T'es-tu ben Américaine?

It was not always Noriko who visited me--I'd visited Noriko at her aunt's house a few times, though not as often, and would sit and listen for hours on end, just listening, not having the heart to interrupt, preferring to hear them talk of their own little world. It was like listening to a song.

--Non!--enteka, j'ai rien dit, pis à dit, "Ah, c'est ça! Vous êtes une..." ah...j'veux dire un half...que c'est que ça? Mi-Blanche, mi-  
Japonaise...

--Métisse.

--Un Métis? Comme Louis Riel?

--Ouais, c'est ça...

Listening to Sei and Madeleine talk was much the same, like listening to a song of a far away place in a language I did not know. A Canadian folk song perhaps.

--Enteka, à m'a dit, "Vous êtes une métisse! Est-ce que c'est votre père qui est blanc, ou votre mere?" Pis j'étais pas mal insultée, moé, une Japonaise, d'être traitée d'une métisse. Y me fallait l'insulter, elle itou! Mais j'savais pas insulter quelqu'un, pas vraiment, j'n'avais que cinq ans. Enfin je voyais qu'avait un front large, elle, pis j'la dis, "Crisse-moé la paix, la fille au front large!"

The tune suited Sei somehow, on the surface quick and light-hearted, but underneath it all a hint of melancholy.

Loneliness, perhaps.

--Mais j'l'ai dit en japonais, ben sûr, donc en fait j'ai dit...

With that Sei drew in a very deep breath, or at least pretended to, and shouted in a juvenile voice:

--DEKOCHIN!

I couldn't help but laugh along with Madeleine as Sei came to the climax of her story. Perhaps it was Sei's childish tone. Perhaps it was the sudden Japanese word, disrupting the flow of French so jarringly. Then again, perhaps it was simply because Madeleine was laughing too. On hearing me laugh Sei turned around and saw me.

--Oh, hi, Shimako. I know it's after four, I'm sorry. Lot of the clubs don't even open 'til nine, so I figured I'd leave you a little longer. I was just about to get you...you feeling better?

--Yes, thank you...is it all right if I use the shower? I wanted to change...

--Hello, Shimako, said Madeleine in English. Did you sleep well? Do you want some coffee to wake you up?

--No, no...thank you...I want...the shower. La douche?

Madeleine opened her mouth as if about to answer, but Sei spoke first, in Japanese:

--Go back out into the hall and turn right. It's in the washroom.

--Thank you...

--Thanks for reminding me, actually. I could use one myself, if I'm going to take you out...

--I'll be right out.

--No worries, we've got all evening. Take your time. Unless you want me to join you in there...

I was no longer so irritable that I had the urge to snap at Sei for saying something like that, because (I was sure by now) of course she didn't mean it. To be frank, I still wasn't alert enough to respond at all. So I just stood there, I imagine looking rather stupid. All I could really think of was the rosary.

--Kidding, kidding...go on.

I left Sei and Madeleine to their conversation and went into the washroom. A combination shower and bath, with a rack holding several types of shampoos--many rarely used, apparently--and in the same room a medicine cabinet, a toilet and a sink on which sat a water glass and a couple of toothbrushes. Everything but the cabinet was in a faded shade of pink. It too probably had not been renovated in thirty years or more. It must have been Madeleine's mother who had decorated it.

I ran the shower, and after the water had assumed a comfortable temperature I took my clothes off and stepped in. I didn't start washing immediately, though, but stood, letting the water flow over my body, and over the rosary.

How can I describe it? Should I?

Noriko adored me, kissing me lightly, deliberately and reverently all over, as if adoring a Buddha. It was a long time before I was able to let go when we were together like that, on the nights she would stay after the last bus left and she would sleep in my room. Perhaps it was fear Father would catch us, though he never did, nor even objected to Noriko's staying at the temple no matter how often she did so. Noriko's aunt never objected either. I wondered if it was because she had been a student at Lillian. Noriko's aunt must have known, if not seen, what some of the girls did together. Perhaps she knew why Noriko spent so much time at Shoguji. Perhaps Father did too.

Our relationship as soeurs had always been an unusual one. I had never tried to dominate her, and in our relationship Noriko had always taken the lead. I had not offered my rosary to Noriko; she had asked me for it, affecting to want to borrow it. One could be forgiven for thinking I was the petite soeur, not she. So it made sense that one summer night, when she was still in her first year and she had missed the bus home, that she was the one to take me.

Or perhaps give herself to me. Because she never asked me to touch her in return, even though it was natural that I found her beautiful at times like those in a way unlike any other time. She adored me as she would a god or Buddha, asking for nothing in return for her offering but my favour, and not expecting even that. For her it was enough when I would look into her eyes and stroke her hair, or embrace her as we drifted off to sleep. I do not think it displeased her to be touched, by any means; certainly she always seemed happy to let me. But much of that must have been because she knew it pleased me to touch her. She never seemed to become calm the way I did when she touched me, no matter how much I encouraged her with caresses and tender words, much less be able to let herself go.

That day was different.

That day, after Yumi told me about her and Sei, I had finally taken her into the sanctuary to pray. We had not been there long when Noriko came in with Toko. Noriko looked impassive. Toko had been crying.

--So how do you pray to Buddha again? she said to Noriko.

--I thought you were a Catholic, said Noriko, raising an eyebrow.

--I'm not a very good one, Toko replied.

That night, when it was over and we were embracing, I asked Noriko:

--What happened?

--By the time I caught up with Toko I realized what I had tried to do, and tried to apologize. She turned on her heel and shouted, "Fine! Enjoy your oneesama while you can! If you think you'll have her to yourself forever you've got another thing coming!" She said it as if it had never occurred to me, even though the fact was I had known that all along.

She turned over to look at me and went on:

--And then, just now...I couldn't help but think of you and Sei Sato. Together. It should have been a horrible thought, but it was so beautiful. Isn't that strange?

I said nothing. There was nothing I could possibly say.

--There's something I should return to you, Noriko said.

--What?

Noriko reached over to her side of the futon where her clothes lay and turned back to show me the rosary that Sei had given me, that I had given to Noriko.

--Noriko, I said, my voice trembling, you don't understand. I never did this with Sei. She never laid a finger on me. She never said she wanted to even as a joke.

--I told you I was only borrowing it. I always meant to return it to you. If you don't want it, shouldn't you return it to Sei? She was the one who gave it to you.

--Noriko...

--Tell Rosa Chinensis she can graduate without worrying about me. So can you. I always knew we would have to part. Why shouldn't you go to Canada? You can be a Christian anywhere.

--Noriko...I don't even know if I'll be going there to stay yet. I'm not even going to graduate until Easter.

--That's all right. There's no need to make a fuss. There's no need to tell a soul. I'll stay by your side until then. I'll even be Rosa Gigantea if I must. I still love you, Shimako. I always will. That's why I'm doing this. If I don't give you up now, I'll never be able to.

--Noriko, please! I said, pleading. Just because Toko said something cruel...

--I said she was shameless. I didn't call her a liar. If she has no shame, why should she lie? Please, Shimako, don't be greedy.

She was smiling, a look of peace in her eyes. I had never seen her look so beautiful.

--I suppose I am greedy. If I weren't I would never have let you do this. I've played a very shabby trick on you, haven't I? And I've been passing myself off as your grande soeur, taking advantage of you the whole time...

--You gave more than you took. Much more. You helped me become a woman.

--Because we did this?

--Because I came to love you. Look at it this way. To be enlightened, I have to give up desire. If I never knew desire, how could I be enlightened? Hold still.

I did, and Noriko put the rosary around my own neck, and when she was done looked into my eyes and stroked my hair.

--It looks more beautiful on you than it ever did on me, she said.

And with that she kissed me full on the mouth for what I knew would be the last time, before rising from my futon and putting on her sleeping kimono so she could go sleep under the kotatsu in the living room.

I had never actually worn the rosary around my neck before I gave it to Noriko, and now in the shower it felt out of place where it was, hanging down between my breasts. Before, I had always worn it tied around my wrist as Sei had done. I had tried to tie it there before I got on the plane, but for some reason I had been unable to get it to stay tied to my wrist. I had put it around my neck, under my blouse, and considered the act done.

Now, when I took the rosary off and wrapped it around my wrist, using the crucifix to get it to hold in place, I was able to get it to hold fast to my wrist with no trouble at all.

TSUZUKU 


	3. Chapter 3

---

I asked Sei as we stepped into Beaudry station that evening:

--Is the club we're going to very far away? 

--Not really. We're only going to Berri-UQÀM. I just remembered I need to get you a metro card.

We walked down the steps to the turnstile, and Sei asked the attendant:

--Une carte de trois jours, s'il vous plaît.

--Seize dollars.

Sei passed him a bill, and the attendant passed her back a card which she immediately handed to me, which read CARTE TOURISTIQUE.

--Guard that with your life. Show it to the attendant and they'll let you through.

--I could have paid for that on my own, I protested (though I admit not too forcefully).

--Pay me back when you're rich and famous.

Sei ran her pass through the reader and walked through, waiting for me to show the pass to the attendant and walk through myself before she stepped on the moving sidewalk.

--So...is Berri-UQÀM still in the Village?

--Not as such, why?

--I just thought we'd be going to a club you went to often.

--We are. I go to this club all the time...why? You thought I was taking you to a lesbian club?

Sei was looking at me as if I'd lost my wits. Sei Sato had never made a secret of her attraction to women. However, this was the first time I had heard her breathe the word "lesbian," and now she spat the word as if it were an obscenity.

--Why? You want to go to one? she went on. There's actually not that many in the Village. There's one near Peel station I go to sometimes...you want to go there, instead? I don't mind...

It was perfectly obvious that she did.

--No, it's all right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions like that...

--No, it's fine, it's just...I figured that'd be the last place you'd want me to take you. Coming?

So saying, Sei stepped on the moving sidewalk, and after a moment's hesitation I stepped on myself, following her slowly down into the station. 

-  
Les filles du lys de la montagne, chapter three -  
A Maria-sama ga miteru (Marimite) fanfic by Paul Corrigan -  
Marimite concept devised by Oyuki Konno ---

-  
I ---

--Et pour boire, mam'zelle?

--Une Maudite. Do you know what you want, Shimako?

--I should probably have hot chocolate, I said.

Rue Saint-Denis was lined with old townhouses that had been converted into any number of fashionable bars and cafés. Juliette et Chocolat, which (Sei had assured me) sold the best French crêpes in Montreal and the best hot chocolate in the civilized world as far as she knew, was in the lower level of one of them.

There were two motifs to the décor. Chocolate, of course, was one of them. Framed prints of vintage advertisements for chocolate hung on the walls; beside our table was a poster showing a child peering into a bird's nest containing a chocolate bar, the caption reading CHOCOLAT NESTLÉ. The other, oddly enough, was roses; the menus had drawings of red roses on the front cover, and on the wall behind the counter (just above Sei's head, from my perspective) was a large lamp made of red paper suggesting a large red rose.

Juliette et chocolat was obviously popular, metal tables and wicker chairs occupied by groups of girlfriends as well as couples, some man and woman, some two women. I couldn't help thinking it should have been the Rosas Chinensis here instead of the Rosas Gigantea. Perhaps it was somewhere like this that Toko had in mind for her date with Yumi. Sei for her part had never been the sort to take her petite soeur out on "dates." I admit her apparent determination to treat me like a princess the whole time I was in Montreal was rather flattering.

--You don't have to have chocolate, said Sei. I'm having a beer. You wanna order something stronger?

--I don't think I should, I replied.

--You're sure? You're eighteen, now, right? You're legal here.

--We don't drink in my family, I said, a bit too firmly.

--Oh. Right. No meat, then, either, I guess?

--No, thank you.

--Okay. Pour mon amie, une Végétarienne pis un noir mi-amer à l'ancienne.

--Okay, said the waitress, writing down our orders. Une minute.

She went off to see about our food, and Sei said to me:

--You can take the girl away from the Buddha, but you can't take the Buddha away from the girl.

--Is that bad?

--Not always.

The waitress brought Sei a glass and a bottle of beer, most of which Sei poured into the glass and immediately drank down without stopping to breathe.

--I ought to warn you, though, Sei went on, you might get pretty warm in the club wearing that sweater.

Sei herself had changed her top before we left, exchanging her white sweater for a black t-shirt so tight it seemed to be painted on her. 

--I was afraid you would be cold, wearing that. This is the lightest top I brought with me. And the nicest. Don't you like it?

--No, I do. Just saying. You don't have to wear so many clothes all the time. It's cold in Canada, but they do have central heating. I guess you wouldn't do this much at home, eh? Go clubbing, I mean.

--Is that all right?

--Well, yeah. I'd be more worried if you were partying every weekend. What, you think I had time to go to clubs in my senior year? You are indeed privileged, my dear, Sei added, winking, for tonight's "Train Shimako for College" night.

It was not, I should add, as if I had never had the opportunity to go to a club. Rei Hasekura had invited Yoshino Shimazu to a club near her university for Yoshino's eighteenth birthday; Yoshino had invited me and Yumi to come with her, but we had both turned her down (we both had a mock exam the next day). When we asked her about it the day after, just before the Yamiyurikai meeting, Yoshino claimed to have had quite a nice time, though it would have been nothing short of heavenly (Yoshino claimed) if Rei hadn't been visibly upset at the idea of Yoshino dancing with any of the boys at the club.

--She wanted to spend time with you on your birthday. You didn't just ignore her the whole night, I hope? I'd offered, perfectly sure Yoshino, who was nothing if not jealous of Rei, wouldn't have done anything of the kind.

--We could have spent time together at home! Yoshino replied. It wasn't like I was going to leave with some guy I didn't even know. I'm not stupid. I wanted to have fun on my birthday. Rei needs to loosen up. Is she really going to treat me like I'm made of glass for the rest of my life?

We might never have learned the real reason why Rei had been so upset if a hot-headed freshman from the Journalism Club had not barged into the Yamiyurikai meeting room a few minutes later. She was not asking for permission to publish the photos she had taken of Rosa Foetida letting at least three men deep-kiss and fondle her on the dance floor of the club; she simply wished to know if Rosa Foetida had any comment that she could add to the article that she assured us was going in the newspaper's next issue.

I wonder if the freshman was satisfied when Rosa Foetida was so absolutely thunderstruck at the question as to be rendered mute on the spot.

Rosa Chinensis, however, merely looked the photos over calmly, then folded her hands and coldly asked the young reporter:

--May I ask, miss, what a freshman from Lillian Academy was doing in a club for university students in the first place? Do you plan to explain that in your article? And may I ask how else you are qualified to write about adults?

Sei poured the rest of the beer into her glass, drank it in one gulp, and showed me the label on the bottle, which depicted men paddling a canoe in the middle of the air.

--Here we go. That's the magic canoe from the chasse-galerie story, she said. They're flying over Montreal. This is the Basilique Notre-Dame over here, and over here's the Oratoire St-Joseph. Excusez, une autre Maudite?

--Bien sûr.

If the waitress, who was just then serving me my chocolate in a small china pot usually used to serve tea, was surprised to see how quickly Sei had drunk her beer, she did not let it show.

The chocolate itself was dark, not too sweet, very thick, and as Sei had promised, easily the best I had ever tasted.

--So, said Sei, after taking a long swig of beer, how's Noriko? She still helping out at Shoguji?

I should have expected Sei to ask about Noriko sooner or later, but I hadn't expected it to be the first question out of her mouth. I put down my chocolate, suddenly unable to look at her, saying nothing.

--Did I say something wrong? she asked.

--No...it's just...I started.

--Wait...on your arm. Is that the rosary I gave you?

I really ought to have known better than to leave the rosary on my arm. As I'd lifted my arm to drink my chocolate, my sweater had ridden up my arm a bit farther than I'd thought it would, revealing the rosary for all to see.

--Yes, it is.

--I thought you gave my rosary to Noriko...

--I didn't.

--You didn't?

--She borrowed it. That's how she put it when she asked to be my soeur. The other day she gave it back.  
--What?

Sei put down her beer and looked at me, clearly in shock.

--She gave you back your rosary? Sweet Jesus, why? She doesn't want to be Rosa Gigantea any more? Or did you guys have a fight?

--It wasn't like that...

--Oh for...

As if for punctuation Sei drained the rest of her beer. The waitress was just then bringing us our crêpes.

--Une autre Maudite, said Sei.

--Oui...bien sûr. Un instant.

The waitress put down the crêpes in front of us and went to fetch Sei another beer.

--Don't you think you're drinking too fast? I had to ask.

--No. Shimako, what's going on here? Is she angry at you about something?

--It wasn't like that...She seemed almost happy...

--Votre Maudite, mam'zelle, said the waitress, who had come with Sei's beer.

--Merci.

Sei poured out her third beer, drank a large swallow and went on:

--Happy about what? Someone flings your rosary in your face, they're usually pretty damned unhappy...

--She didn't fling it in my face! Sei...you don't know Noriko the way I do. She'd never do anything like that. She didn't make a fuss at all. She didn't even want anybody else to know. You're the first person I've told.

--Then what was the point of giving it back?

--Well...I'd told her I was going here to look at universities, but...when she found out you were here, she took me aside and gave it back to me. I didn't want to take it, but she insisted...If you don't want it, she said, give it back to Sei Sato when you get to Montreal.

--What? Why? Shimako, I gave you that rosary. I don't want it back. You can tell Noriko that too. If she doesn't want it, tell her to throw it away if she's...

--I think...I think it was her way of saying I belonged with you.

--Belonged with me? What's that supposed to...

Sei trailed off, her eyes suddenly going wide. She took another sip of beer before going on:

--Does she know about me?

--Yes. Yes, she does.

--Who told her? You?

--No. Toko Matsudaira.

--You could have, you know. I wouldn't actually have minded.

--I didn't think it mattered.

--Shimako, are you trying to tell me Noriko thought we were a couple?

--Yes. I think so.

--Shit.

--What?

--I said shit.

Sei took a long sip of her beer, as if for punctuation, before going on:

--What the hell gave her that idea? How often do we even see each other any more? And even if we did...

Sei put down her beer, looked me in the eye, and added:

--She's got to know you're not like that. You told her that, right?

It was not an accusation. It was not even a question. Sei Sato, the one person I was sure would have immediately figured out the truth, could not even imagine that I could possibly have done what I did with Noriko Nijo, what I was sure was written all over my face in a script Sei, of all people, could easily read had she wanted to. She could not--no, she would not see.

I hesitated for far too long.

--Right? said Sei.

--I told her we were never like that, but she didn't listen. There was nothing I could do...

--You didn't have to take the rosary back. You should have said, no, that's yours. You keep that...

--She's a lot like you, you know, I finally managed to say.

--How's that? said Sei. She likes hitting on cute girls?

--No, no...I mean she's her own person. Anything she does, it's because she wants to do it. She has a horror of hierarchy too, even in the Yamiyurikai. She never even calls me oneesama. I couldn't just force her to take my rosary back, even if I'd wanted to...it wasn't that she wasn't jealous of me, like Yumi used to be with Sachiko. You were never possessive of me either. She knew I was fond of you. It's not as if I'd forgotten you. She never held it against me before. She must have thought she couldn't ever compare to you...that she wasn't really worthy of me. She was really sweet about it, as if she had done something wrong...

--So...what? You think she thinks you became soeurs because she reminded you of me? That's what you're trying to say?

--Something like that.

--And there was absolutely nothing you could do or say to change her mind?

--No. She began our relationship, she ended it. I'm sorry. I should have been more assertive, shouldn't I?  
--Cheer up. It's not your fault, okay?

Sei was smiling at me almost maternally now.

--Eat your crepe before it gets cold, all right? We're supposed to be having fun here, eh? Her loss, anyway...

--Do you find that strange? I asked Sei, as I started to eat.

--What?

--It could be true. She did remind me a lot of you. I must be attracted to that kind of person...

Now it was Sei's smile that faded. She picked up her glass and took another sip of beer, the look in her eyes contemplative, faraway, a little sad.

--No, I don't find it strange at all.

--Sei?

--Hm?

--What was the reason you picked me as your soeur?

By way of response Sei leaned in really close until I could smell the beer on her breath, and whispered in my ear:

--'Cause I like your face...

--You're drunk!

Sei laughed out loud at my obvious irritation.

--Good. That means I'm ready for the club. How's your food?

--Fine, I said. Sei, I'm asking a serious question...

Sei drained her beer and went on, more seriously, playing with the glass as she did so:

--That's what oneesama said to me. When she asked me to be her soeur, I mean. I was like, fine, whatever...

--And that's why she made you her soeur?

--Why, did she need a better reason? She liked me for some reason. I can think of worse reasons than that, like--I don't know. Trying to get out of the school play, or because her grande soeur told her to, like Sachiko. Maybe I like people like you. That's not a crime, eh? You're thinking about it too hard, Shimako. I liked you. I didn't need a reason to like having you around, did I? I'll have another for the road. Serveuse? Une autre Maudite pis un verre d'eau. Shimako, you want anything else?

--No, I'm fine.

--Vous êtes sûre, mam'zelle? asked the waitress. Ça serait votre quatrième...

--Ouais, chus sûre, Sei answered, a little gruffly. C'est correct?

--Oui, bien sûr.

The waitress did not try to argue further, but did look apprehensive as she went off to fetch another bottle of beer.

--Do you normally drink this much, Sei? I asked.

--It's a special occasion. And it makes me hungry for my supper. Mmm...crêpe.

Sei had hardly touched her crêpe while we had been talking; now, though, she dove into it, polishing it off at breakneck speed.

--Anyway, Sei went on, in between bites, I don't know why people liked my face. I never did.

--Why not?

--People were always thinking my father was white. I mean, I do look like my dad, but he's Japanese. Of course, grandma raised him on her own. For all I know my granddad really was a Marine. I don't know, and it's not like she's telling. That's why dad's a self-made man. Wasn't high class enough for anyone to do him any favours...Anyway, it was a real pain in the ass. I hated it. Of course, then I come to Canada, and I tell actual white people that, like Madeleine, and they're like, you look Asian to me...I dunno. Guess I should chalk it down to training.

--For being a foreigner?

--Among other things. Fitting in isn't something I'm good at.

I had in fact always liked Sei Sato's face: her light-coloured hair, her round, grey eyes. I had not been the only one, least of all at Lillian Academy. Her exotic good looks were a perfect contrast to that of the classically Japanese beauty of the daughters of good families who were so common at Lillian, like Yoko Mizuno or Sachiko Ogasawara-  
or, when I thought of it, Noriko Nijo. Nobody at Lillian would ever have mistaken Noriko for anything but Japanese.

Sei finally finished her crêpe, and picked up her water glass to take a drink of water.

--Don't you fit in here?

--Hm? What you mean? said Sei, looking up.

--I mean...here you're with people who are like you, right?

Sei gave me a withering look, and replied rather dryly:

--Miss Shimako, what we have here is a failure to communicate. I didn't say I moved out here because I thought Canada was lesbian la-la land, did I? If I wanted to hang out with lesbians I could have done it in Japan. Not like I didn't know where to find them, down in Shinjuku. Hell, I didn't even have to go there. I knew where they were at Lillian U. I didn't hang out with you because I thought you were a lesbian, right? Listen. In Canada I don't get treated like some freak of nature. Which is great. I can go days, weeks sometimes, without people reminding me I'm a lesbian. Without even having to think about it. I can just be me. Shimako, this may come as a shock, but the fact is I don't hang out with lesbians very much. That club I told you about? I haven't been there in months. 

--You're right. I'm sorry...

--No need to be sorry, it's just...if you really want to know, I don't even like a lot of lesbians. I'm even thinking of switching majors.

--From Women's Studies? Why?

--It's like--have you ever spent time with some of these people? They spend every day of their lives thinking about how they're lesbians and how great the world will be when they can stop men from fucking it up...oh, and if you have a moment to yourself that you don't spent fighting for women's issues you're not really a lesbian...That's it! They remind me of the nuns. You know how people say the nuns are all closeted lesbians? I'm beginning to think it's the other way around. You know? It's like a cult or something. That's the sort of thing I was trying to get away from...I don't want to be a member of the lesbian club. I'm not a joiner, never was... 

--Neither is Noriko, I said.

--Hm? What makes you say that? Sei asked.

--I was just thinking of Noriko just now. Toko Matsudaira drives her crazy, trying to get her to join clubs and be her friend...

--Oh yeah, Sei replied, laughing. Yoko used to want me to do that too...I feel for the kid...

--You really are very much alike, you know. You'd like her...

--Yeah, well...

Sei took another sip of water and went on:

--Anyway, most of my friends in Montreal are gay guys, actually. I feel a lot more comfortable around them. Don't take themselves nearly as seriously, that's for sure. They have much more fun. All those clubs along rue Sainte-Catherine in the Village? Almost all of them are gay clubs. I can relax, have a beer, not worry about the guys in there trying to pick me up. Safest place for a woman on God's green earth. Point being if I'm going to hang out with anybody, it'd better be with people I actually like...

--Like me?

Sei looked at me a moment, seeming to consider before smiling and replying:

--Yeah, like you.

She suddenly laughed and added:

--Maybe I'll switch to your department instead. We can take all the same classes...

--You really don't have to, I said laughing a little nervously. I wasn't sure if she meant it or not.

--That reminds me, Sei went on, what do you want to major in? I was thinking it had to be something environmental...

--What? I said. Like biology? I really don't know...my math grades aren't that good. I hadn't really thought about it that carefully...

--You always liked plants, right?

--Oh, I don't know, Sei...that was always more a hobby. Collecting gingko nuts and things...I couldn't make a living off that!

--Just saying...it might as well be something you like, eh? You'll probably being doing something with it for the rest of your life...something you're devoted to, you know? If you hate it, why bother?

Devotion. Sei made it sound like a vocation. Were the lesbians closeted nuns, as she'd said? Perhaps it was she, not I, who would have made an excellent sister.

--I suppose I'm asking...said Sei, putting down her water glass.

--Yes?

--Shimako...what do you want to do with your life?

--I'm sorry?

--You used to want to be a nun...but you don't any more. What do you want to do?

--I'm not sure I know...why? What do you want to do with your life?

Sei seemed just as ill-prepared as me for the question, finally answering with a chuckle:

--Not Women's Studies that's for sure.

--Sei?

--Hm?

--I was just thinking...maybe we could go to the Village and see your friends? I wouldn't mind meeting some of them...

--Hm? To a gay club, you mean?...I dunno. I suppose...

The idea did not seem to horrify Sei, as the idea of taking me to a lesbian club had done, but for all that she did not seem enthusiastic.

--You don't want to do that?

--Well...let me put it this way...we'd probably be the only women there. They'll notice you and me, and they know me. If Madeleine thinks we're a couple, you bet your life they will. You sure you want that kind of attention? I mean, they're okay guys, most of them, but...it might be a bit awkward, okay? Straight club, we don't have to worry about people getting the wrong idea.

With that Sei finished her water, suddenly grinned and added:  
--Besides, if you want me to corrupt you, we'll have to take it a step at a time, eh? Serveuse! La facture!

-  
II ---

--This all you got?

The bouncer, a heavyset white man not much older than Sei, did not bother addressing me in French as I gave him my passport.

--Yes, I said.

After looking at it a little longer than was probably necessary, he handed it back to me and said:

--All right, you're fine.

I had been glad of my sweater while standing in line for half an hour just to get in the door of Club Rose Latulippe, though Sei, as we had stood out in the cold, had assured me that the queue to get in was quite short compared to what one might see on Saturday night. "In winter, no less," she'd added. We'd passed the time in line swapping lighter anecdotes about our lives since we'd seen each other last; when the conversation dropped, I watched the other clubbers behind me in line, the women (I noticed) dressed not much more under their jackets than Sei, some even less, shivering even in what Sei assured me wasn't that cold an autumn night.

Through the door of the club was a staircase leading down into the basement. It wasn't until we had checked our coats at the cloakroom at the bottom of the stairs and gone through the door to the main dance hall that I realized that Sei had been right; the first thing I noticed on entering was the heat, the work of human exertion as much as anything else. Then again, I was glad at that point just to be inside.

The bar was just a few steps inside the door, a very modern affair, all black-paneled wood and glass. Sei stopped there to order a Red Bull and vodka for herself and (after another token attempt to get me to take something stronger) a glass of water for me, before leading me to the dance floor. The décor there was, for the most part, just as modern as the bar, a few black leather sofas and glass tables for those sitting out any given number, mirrors on the side walls. The back wall, just behind the disk jockey, was what struck me, taken up as it was entirely by a picture--a reproduction of a painting, perhaps--of a peasant woman not so much dancing with as swooning in the arms of a dark, handsome, well-dressed man at a long-ago country dance.

Tonight's dance was in full swing, and with the DJ playing music at full blast Sei had to almost shout in my ear to tell me:

--That's Rose Latulippe. The girl who danced with the devil.

Sei led me to one of the couches, where we both sat for a few minutes, drinking our drinks and watching the dancers. The lighting in the club was rather dim, the lights on the dance floor dominated by reds and oranges, giving the whole place, I had to admit, an infernal air. It must have been partly deliberate, but I still felt intimidated, and I was rather grateful not to be dragged immediately onto the dance floor by Sei.

For all that, I had expected Sei to be eager to hit the dance floor quickly. As it was, she sat beside me a long time in silence, sipping her drink, watching the dancers, not looking at me. She was not so much withdrawn as hesitant, looking as if trying to gather up courage.

--Aren't you going to go dance? I said (or rather shouted in Sei's ear) at last.

--What? Without you?

--I'm not much of a dancer. Go ahead. I'll watch.

--Oh come on, Shimako! I brought you here so we could have fun, not so you could watch me have fun with a bunch of other people.

--What's wrong? Don't you see anybody here you like?

I had said that to tease her, but Sei looked at me as she said that, an apprehensive look suddenly in her eyes. She put down her drink and replied:

--I'm going to the washroom. Watch my drink, eh?

I was about to offer to go with her, but suddenly thought better of it and watched her stand up and walk towards the sign TOILETTES at the corner of the floor and disappear into the adjacent corridor.

I couldn't help but guess that what was making her apprehensive was me. To someone like Sei I suppose it would sound like a proposition, one that, for all her teasing, she didn't dare accept. I couldn't help but remember when she had met me in the Rose Mansion after my date with Shizuka Kanina. I had fallen sobbing into her lap, and as she soothed me she had offered to give me a kiss herself, or whatever else I pleased. Another of her teases.

But what might have happened if I had said yes?

Mostly out of curiosity I took a sip of Sei's drink. It tasted like a mix of liquid gelatine and cough medicine, of no appeal to me at all, and I put the glass down and watched the people dance frantically, some in groups to amuse each other, some alone to impress the others, some in couples to seduce each other. I couldn't help but notice one couple, who were already not so much dancing as making love on the dance floor, embracing and deep kissing.

--Please tell me this isn't you, Yoshino...

The photographer had reluctantly left the meeting room, clearly not pleased to be outwitted by Rosa Chinensis, muttering darkly about censorship. When we were satisfied she was out of earshot Yumi pushed the photos towards Yoshino, a concerned look on her face.

--So what if it was? Yoshino asked.

--Yoshino, please. Don't worry about the paper. I'll talk to Tsutako. Don't worry about anything. I just want to know...

--Why? What's to know? I met some hot guys and got kisses out of them? So what? Am I supposed to be satisfied with pretending to be in love with some other girl forever like you?

I expected Yumi to get angry at that remark, but instead she was silent a moment, before answering, a little sadly:

--Yoshino, I don't know about you, but I wasn't pretending. Neither was Sachiko. Shall I tell you how I know that?

Toko, who was seated next to Yumi, turned towards her in surprise. Yoshino's eyes went wide in shock. She suddenly turned towards me where I sat, Noriko standing beside me, moving at Yoshino's gaze ever so slightly nearer.

--Oh my God. It's true. I'm the only normal person in this room, aren't I?

--Oneesama?

Yoshino jumped at the sound, turning back to see Nana Arima, Rosa Foetida en bouton, just inside the door, arriving just in time for the meeting. Yumi quickly turned the photos over.

--How much of that did you hear? Yumi asked.

--Oneesama, is something wrong?

--No, no, nothing's wrong, said Yoshino. You know what? Today would be a great day for some Rosa Foetida quality time. Just you and me.

--But I thought we had a meeting right now...started Nana.

--Sure we do! Us two have a meeting! Let's go, 'kay?

Yoshino walked over to Nana and took her hand, turning back before she dragged Nana down the corridor to declare:

--Here's a headline for the paper! "Yellow Rose Revolution! Final Battle!"

C'est l'gros fun noir chez Joe Picard Une veillée comme on en voit peu Ça sonne a la porte, onze heures moins quart C'est un étranger, beau comme un dieu

--Wanna dance?

It was a man's voice in my ear. I turned to see who it was. A young man, about Sei's age, wearing a t-shirt saying MONTREAL. A tourist himself, presumably. By his expression he must have liked what he saw.

--Well...

--She's with me.

The man looked up behind me.

--What?

--I said she's with me.

I turned around to see Sei behind me, just in time to see her glaring dangerously at the man before looking down, grinning and grabbing my hand.

--I love this one. Come on, let's dance.

The DJ apparently had decided it was time for a change; he had been playing rock songs in English when we had arrived, much of it augmented by an electronic beat, but now he had put on a song in French that sounded like a rock version of a folk song. Before I knew what was happening Sei was dragging me onto the dance floor, leaving the young man alone on the couch, mouthing a curse under his breath before rising and walking towards the bar.

--I told you I can't dance, I said. It wasn't quite true, but I would have looked quite odd doing a traditional fan dance here.

--Neither can I.

I felt myself very clumsy at first, doing my best to copy Sei's gyrations, pumping her arms and shaking her hips, grinning devilishly, making as if she were having the time of her life. She must have been being modest; her dancing attracted a lot of attention, impressing women and men, some of whom she favoured with a brief dance, but never for long before returning her attention to me.

Being with Sei, though, brought me attention of my own. At one point a man stepped in front of me, dancing aggressively; being unsure what to do I was going to dance with him out of politeness, but Sei suddenly cut between us, dancing just as aggressively in front of him, her grin turning nasty, as if to say, You want her, do you? Well, you'll have to go through me.

Pis quand Jésus danse c'est l'bout de tout Il transpire même de l'eau bénite De peur d'en recevoir une goutte Le démon décide de prendre la fuite

The man quickly backed off. He could see Sei was determined to defend me from all comers.

At length I excused myself so I could go to the bathroom. I tried to ask her to come with me, but it was impossible to talk over the din; she guessed what I wanted, and mouthed, Go on. As I left the dance floor I turned back to look. Even the pretense of a smile had vanished, and now Sei's dancing became even more frenzied, as if she did not dare to stop, or could not stop, perhaps possessed.  
--

--Crazy bitch!

The first thing I heard as we emerged from the club was a young woman screaming at another, who was just then running across rue Saint-Denis to a car, having apparently not brought a jacket.

I myself was glad to be back in the cool air of the street. Sei had stayed on the dance floor until they had closed, fuelled by Red Bulls and vodka. That, of course, meant I had had little chance to rest myself.

--Perhaps we should take the metro back? I suggested.

--Can't. It's...what? Three a.m.?...Metro shuts down at one...oops!

Sei stumbled near the top of the stairs, grabbing the banister just in time.

--Maybe we should get a taxi then...are you all right?

--I'm fine! I'm fine!...Just need some air...it's not that far anyway...I feel like a walk. Clear my head, you know?...Don't worry, I've walked home in worse state than this. I remember where I live at least. Rue Sainte-Catherine pis rue Panet. I'm good. Darn. Evening ends when I'm just getting started...

I slipped an arm under hers as we started walking down rue Saint-Denis, holding her up as we slipped through the revelers as the bars and clubs disgorged, waiting for taxis, smoking cigarettes, shouting. At the corner of rue Saint Denis and boulevard de Maisonneuve, a young woman was crying hysterically, obviously drunk herself. She had a couple of male companions, talking to her calmly, obviously trying to console her, but she pushed them away, screaming what even I could tell was an obscenity.

I did not actually mind walking. I am used to walking in the countryside around Shoguji, and a walk is never as tiring when one has a companion. However, now Sei had stopped dancing, the energy had gone out of her. We had only just turned onto rue Sainte-Catherine when Sei said:

--Actually, Shimako? I need to sit down for a bit.

--You sure you're all right?

--'Course I'm all right! Our Lady's watching me!

Sei slipped out of my grasp and gestured dramatically upward.

We were standing in front of Chapelle Notre-Dame-de-Lourdes. Above us was, indeed, a metal-plated statue of Our Lady, overlooking the street from the roof of the church, wearing the starry crown of the Queen of Heaven. I couldn't help but notice the plaque beside the church door as well:

VOUS QUI PASSEZ GENS DE HAUT SAVOIR OU GENS DE LA RUE GENS QUI CONTEMPLEZ DIEU OU GENS QUI L'AVEZ OUBLIÉ ENTREZ DANS CETTE MAISON DU PÈRE PROSTERNEZ-VOUS DEVANT LUI ADOREZ SON FILS INCARNÉ ET RAPPELEZ-VOUS QUE LE MAÎTRE D'ŒUVRE C'EST L'ESPRIT DU PÈRE ET DU FILS

I said the last phrases aloud:

--Et avant de quitter, regardez tout simplement Mère Marie.

--Before you go, look upon Mother Mary. Yes kids, said Sei, sitting on the church steps, Our Lady is watching all her Son's children, those who contemplate God and those who've forgotten him, even those who've deliberately tried to forget him in the beautiful province of Queerbec. Nation of Queerbec. Whatever they're calling it these days. Go ahead, look, I've seen her before. I just want to sit down.

I, however, had never seen Our Lady quite like this. She looked very different from the Virgin Mary I had known at Lillian, whose arms were clasped in prayer to her Son. The arms of Our Lady of Lourdes were outstretched as if to bless passers-by, or to invite them into her embrace.

Maria-sama no kokoro sore wa aozora watashitachi wo tsutsumu hiroi aozora

Sei, while I had been looking at Our Lady, had gone from sitting to almost lying across the steps, starting to sing herself drunkenly to sleep.

--Mmm...worse places to pass out I suppose, than under Our Lady's gaze...

--Sei, no! I said. You can't sleep there, come on!

It had been cloudy all evening, and as if to underscore my point, it began to drizzle at that precise moment.

--Ah shit, said Sei. Guess not. Help me up?

I offered her a hand and pulled her upright, and we continued to walk along the street towards the Village, trying not to pay any mind to the drizzle. As we crossed rue Berri Sei muttered:

--She watches, but she doesn't actually help you out much, eh?

--She doesn't just hand you things, I replied. That's not how it works.

--How does it work, then?

--Spare some change?

Outside the door of Archambault at the corner of rue Berri a beggar clearly took us for tourists, holding out his hand.

--On a pas d'argent, said Sei in French, walking past, not looking at him.

--Crisse de bullshit! shouted the beggar. Vous-autres êtes pleins! Pleins!

There were cafés, bars and clubs on this side of rue Sainte-Catherine as well, the Studio and the Circus. They too had just closed, with revellers in various stages of inebriation emerging, couples and groups trying to shelter from the drizzle under awnings while waiting for a free taxi to arrive, the drizzle seeming to have drained their energy as much as was Sei's. Past them rue Sainte-Catherine grew less savoury; facing each other were a Theâtre Olympia and a Video Adulte Wega. Was the Village the safest place for a woman on earth, as Sei had said? The glare of the street lights and the drizzle making the street look that much more forbidding. I pulled Sei a little closer to me.

Sei suddenly screamed, out of nowhere:

--OSCAR!

I jumped with fright, turning to Sei to see what she was talking about. She grinned back at me and pointed just ahead of us.

--Over there.

Sure enough, just beyond the adult DVD shop was a Banque Laurentienne, whose ATM was apparently dubbed OSCAR.

--Sorry, couldn't resist. You ever read that comic Rose of Versailles?

--No, I replied, a little curtly.

--About a girl in 18th century France whose father calls her Oscar and raises her as a boy. I read it in Japan, and then I come to Canada and I see Oscar all over Montreal. I find that pretty damn funny...

--Avez-vous de l'argent pour quelque chose à manger?

I turned to look. A girl was sitting outside a restaurant called La Belle Province at the corner of rue Saint-Timothée, begging. She couldn't have been more than sixteen. She wore a thick coat with a hood that looked more appropriate for winter. Beside her was what was probably once a book-bag, now carrying her meager possessions. She had scrawled in cardboard a sign reading

N'IMPORTE QUOI AIDE--MERCI

Sei looked at her for a long moment before finally asking her:

--Ah bon? Si tu veux que'qu'chose à manger, je l'acheterai pour toé chez La Belle Province...

--J'suis capable de l'acheter moé-même...

--J'donne pas de l'argent aux gens dans la rue. Tu veux-tu que'qu'chose à manger, ou non?

--Oui...okay.

Then Sei turned to me and asked:

--Do you want something to eat?

--Not really. Do you?

--Nah. She wants something to eat. I figured what the heck. It won't take long. Mam'zelle, she said to the girl, motioning her to follow us, suis-nous.

I couldn't find it in my heart to object. We found a table inside, and I offered to wait while Sei bought the food.

--Que c'est que tu veux? Sei asked her.

--Hum...une poutine, s'il vous plaît, said the girl.

--Je te trouverai une grosse.

Sei went to get in line along with others in need of comfort food after a long night, and I sat across from the girl.

--Tu parles-tu français, toé itou? she asked me.

Sei had been speaking to me in Japanese. I had to reply, "Non;" the girl looked unhappy at that answer, and fell silent. She did look hungry, tired, and unwashed. What had become of her that had forced her to beg on the streets of Montreal, while I spent my days in a garden of maidens, I was left to merely guess.

At length Sei came back with a Styrofoam bowl of what looked like French fries with melted cheese on top, which she put down before the girl before asking her:

--Alors, que c'est qui t'est arrivé?

The girl, in between wolfish bites of the poutine, animatedly told Sei her story, now and again indicating her leg. Perhaps it had been injured, but I could only guess, understanding next to nothing of what she was saying. I contented myself with watching Sei's expression as she listened, occasionally replying with big-sisterly advice, I presumed from her tone, as she so often had at Lillian. She seemed to be offering help, too, but the girl shook her head to refuse. At length, the girl finished eating and we left, Sei waving to her, saying:

--Garde-toé bien, hein?

--You know, Sei, you haven't changed all that much, I said.

--What you mean?

--You like taking care of people.

--Yeah, right, said Sei. I did as much for Goronta as I did for that girl just now. I'm not taking too good a care of you, am I? Making you drag my ass home in the rain. Is Goronta still hanging around Lillian High?

It had in fact stopped drizzling just then; we quickly walked past a vacant lot and into the Village proper, passing a bookstore called Renaud-Bray across the street ("My second home," said Sei--she still loved books too) before starting to enter the heart of the Village. The revelers from the gay clubs had started to move on, the sidewalks had thinned. Perhaps I was the one taking care of Sei, but I didn't mind. Having her there was enough to make me feel safer as we walked by clubs and shuttered shops with names at turns absurd and threatening: Sauna GI Joe, Priape, Aigle Noire.

--You didn't have to help her.

--Shouldn't I have? You used to complain when I'd feed Goronta.

--No, it's all right...I just wondered why her...

--And not the guy at Archambault...? I told you, he's a pro. She looked like she actually needed food. Said she was from Amos--town way up north--ran off to Montreal, couldn't find a job, friends finally threw her out...Some guy tried to attack her the other night...hear it all the time. Isn't the first time I've helped someone out. Tried to offer to buy her a bus ticket home. Station's not far from here. I've done that too. But she was like, no way.

--What's so horrible in Amos she'd rather sleep on the street in Montreal than go home?

--Damn if I know. She wouldn't tell me. I can guess, though. Felt bad.

Sei suddenly laughed, a little bitterly, adding:

--All right, you win. I thought she was cute.

--What? I said, looking up at her.

--What? You think if she'd been an ugly old guy I'd have been in such a hurry to help her? You know, I don't know how you and Yumi ran off with the idea I'm a nice person.

It occurred to me the girl in fact had been quite pretty, or at any rate had been once and could be again with aid of little more than somewhere to bathe and decent food to eat. Sei Sato, heaven knew, knew a pretty girl when she saw one. But it had not been lust I had seen in Sei's expression. A sense of noblesse oblige, perhaps, that made her happy to help, or rather upset when she did not. A prince's need to save a damsel in distress. That's what upset her about me helping her home. The princess isn't supposed to save the prince.

--Horny lesbian with a bad attitude, that's me. I'm not a nice person at all.

Sei's expression had turned suddenly dark again. She did not say it as if to fish for compliments. "A lesbian with a bad attitude"--that was her frank self-assessment. I could not simply say that she couldn't mean it, because she obviously did. I could not even tell her she was wrong, for it was not just the brighter side of Sei's personality that I had seen. I had seen that darker side in Noriko too; the mirror image of the tenderness and complete devotion to me, to the point that she seemed able to effortlessly forgive me for leaving her forever to run into the arms of another (as far as she knew), was her temper, even violence, against those she thought had slighted me.

But then, why the devotion? What did Sei see in me?

Just another damsel? No; she had not looked at the girl as she did me, or even Yumi. But Sei seemed to want to keep our relations just as superficial. Why go to such lengths to keep the ones she loved at arm's length? Crossing an ocean?

--You were always kind to me, I said at last.

--No I wasn't. What, you're going to tell me I was always there for you, or some crap like that? You wanted a soeur like that, you wanted Yoko. She was always there for me, whether I wanted her there or not, trying to be my friend and solve all my problems or some damn thing like that, like with Sachiko. I figured, who needs that bullshit? I left you alone. I liked you the way you were. Oneesama never tried to run my life either...

We walked past the SAQ du Village, under the rainbow flag and Quebec flag (the yuri flag, even I couldn't help but think of it as now). I noticed for the first time that someone had painted a cartoon character that looked like a hero from a science fiction animation on the mural.

It must have reminded Sei of Oscar, because she went on:

--Hell, even Lady Oscar wouldn't do that. There's a bit where Oscar's taking a coach through Paris, and this girl stops the coach and asks her to buy her for one night. Oscar just laughs and gives her a gold coin and tells her not to do that again...sorry, I'm babbling...

--No, it's okay...

--Way too good to be true. Fact is, if the girl'd have been ugly Oscar wouldn't have done that...that's what I thought when I read it.

--Oh yes?

--Thing was...I read it because, well...it was then I began to realize I wasn't quite right, so...I'm trying to figure out what's wrong with me. I heard about it from Rei Hasekura of all people. This great romantic classic. I asked could I borrow it, and she's like, yeah, okay, whatever. And I wind up laughing at it. Come on, this chick's too good to be true. Her dad's raising her to be a boy from day one, she's got to be twice as fucked up as me. And she's not even like me! The day before she dies at the Bastille she finally consummates her one true love. With the servant-boy she grew up with. Rosalie I could have handled, but André? She'd be like his brother or something...I learned only one useful thing from Lady Oscar.

--What was that?

--That romance novels suck, Sei snickered.

We had reached rue Panet, the Radio-Canada building before us like a homing beacon at the other end of the street, its logo looking to me now like a chrysanthemum.

--See, what did I tell you? We're almost home.

Sei gestured towards the Radio-Canada building, crying out mock-  
dramatically:

--Encore...un peu...et la Bastille...va tomber...Continuez!

Obviously we must have walked past it before, but it was only now that I took a good look at the small park that had been built at the intersection, trees planted, benches erected and a memorial built, metal poles on which had been tied ribbons of every colour, a metal plaque telling all who passed in whose memory it had been erected:

À LA MÉMOIRE DES PERSONNES MORTES DU SIDA AU QUÉBEC

--Oh shit, said Sei suddenly. Shimako, I don't feel so good.

Sei ran to a trash-can in the park and began to retch.

I approached her from behind and slowly rubbed her back, fixing my eye on the wall in front of us on which somebody had scrawled

VIVE LE QUÉBEC LIBRE

---

The house was in darkness. Madeleine clearly had long since gone to bed. It took several moments of fumbling before Sei was able to get her house key in the door. I helped her out of her wet jacket once we were inside.

--Lie down for me, I told her, once we got to the living room. Where are your water glasses?

--I don't want water, she said. I'm not dying. I do this all the time.

--Drink until you throw up?

--Well, I haven't actually puked in a while...

--Where are your glasses? I said, helping Sei onto the couch.

--Over the sink.

So Sei lay down on the couch, and I went into the kitchen to find a water glass and filled it from the tap. I offered it to Sei, who accepted it, making room on the couch so as to invite me to sit with her.

--Thanks, Shimako, said Sei. You're a sweetheart.

Sei quickly drained it, and I took it from her and put it on one of the arms of the couch before sitting down.

--God, I'm a pretty crappy host, eh? she said.

--Don't be silly. I had a very nice time.

--It's just...I was supposed to be taking care of you tonight, and you're the one winding up taking care of me...

In the glare of the street lights Sei's drawn, exhausted face had seemed harsh, twisted even. Now, in the half-light from the kitchen is seemed softer, her beauty ephemeral, like an exotic flower uprooted from the earth and put in a pot somewhere by a thoughtless human, left to die of neglect.

--Don't worry about it, really, I said, taking her hand to sooth her.

--Shimako?

--Yes, Sei?

--You still haven't told me. What do you want to do with your life?

I had not been prepared for that question. I hesitated long enough that Sei finally added:

--That you got to come here to do it, I mean. You still haven't told me that. I still don't understand...I mean...I was the one who didn't fit in. I don't even fit in here. You want to know why I liked you? You actually seemed sort of normal. Happy, even.

--What did you think I was going to do?

--What, the truth? I always thought you'd make someone an excellent wife.

--A wife?

--Yeah...living some place with a nice guy...taking care of a house with a beautiful flower garden...lots and lots of kids...you know, normal happily-ever-after stuff. Stuff that normal girls do when they grow up. Maybe it's just 'cause I'm never likely to do any of that. I dunno...I just thought you'd be good at that. Better than I'd ever be.

Sei reached up to brush a stray hair out of my eyes, very furtively, as if barely daring, to do anything more.

--You're gentle...You're kind...you're drop-dead gorgeous.  
--Sei, that's the alcohol talking. You don't mean that.

--No really! You ever look at yourself in the mirror? What straight guy wouldn't want you? He'd be the luckiest man on earth...Relax, okay?...I know you're not like me. I don't want you to be like me. It's really overrated. You're okay the way you are, Shimako. You're okay.

The light in Sei's eyes that I had seen on the train had returned to her eyes, more brightly than before, for all that not burning but peaceful, warm and still. I had never seen her so at peace, so still, as now, smiling at me and looking up at me into my eyes. Just having me here seemed to comfort her. As for me, sitting by her, being quiet and gentle, as we had so rarely had the chance to do, brought out a contentment and stillness in me I had never felt before.

A calm.

--Though...

Sei shut her eyes, chuckling quietly to herself.

--Yes? I said.

--You don't have to go yet, if you don't want...

I did not want to leave. I sat with her a few minutes more, waiting until I was sure she was asleep, before I let go of Sei's hand and brought the glass into the kitchen to wash it, turning out the light behind me as I went to the bathroom to wash.

In bed the first thing I did was to say a decade of the Rosary, but it did no good. All I could think of was the sight of that beautiful face as she fell asleep. When I am in such a mood there are only a few ways I know of put such thoughts out of my mind so I can sleep. Only one is completely effective.

I imagined I was back in the Rose Mansion after my date with Shizuka, my head in Sei's lap as she soothed me. She offered to give me a kiss herself, or whatever else I pleased. Another of her teases.

In my daydreams, at least, I had no fear. I did not hesitate for a moment, rising to meet her gaze, looking deeply into her eyes and kissing her, embracing her tightly, letting myself go completely, as I had done with Noriko, as I had always longed to do with Sei. 


	4. Chapter 4

Here is chapter four at last, just in time for Bastille Day, which is completely inappropriate because nobody in this fic is French (from France, that is), unless Lady Oscar counts.

Thanks to Ucchan and Ioana for comments. Further comments welcome.

In particular, let me know what you think of Shiori (how I've depicted her, I mean, not what you'd like to do to her with a blunt instrument--I can't use that in the fic). The truth is, there's not much to go on, and Sei's probably idealized her quite a bit. I suspected that she might be much like Shimako, so I've given them fairly similar- sounding "voices." I'd like to know how better to differentiate them--suggestions welcome.

Paul Corrigan

---

--Prochaine station, Sherbrooke.

It wasn't until I heard the voice of the metro announce the next station that I realized I had stepped on the wrong train. It had been the train to Henri-Bourassa we had taken to Sei's place the previous day, and without thinking about it this morning I had gotten for the train going to Henri-Bourassa, not to Côté-Vertu.

--Station Sherbrooke.

I got off the train and walked up the steps to cross the crosswalk Impossible to miss as I walked down the steps to the Côté-Vertu platform was a large mosaic, in which a man in a loincloth--Christ, I supposed--stood before a cross, inspiring artists painting his picture, patriots waving a Quebec flag, people dressed in what I recognized as college graduation garb from American movies, and what looked like surveyors, taking his image as inspiration for what they planned to build.

On the wall was a plaque announcing who had been depicted in the mosaic:

PREMIER BANQUET DE LA SOCIÉTÉ NATIONALE DES CANADIENS FRANÇAIS  
LE DEFILÉ DE LA SAINT-JEAN  
SAINT-JEAN LE BAPTISTE PATRON DU CANADA FRANÇAIS  
LE MONUMENT NATIONAL LES FEUX DE LA ST-JEAN  
L'ENSEIGNEMENT DES ARTS LIBÉRAUX  
LE PRET D'HONNEUR

So it was not Christ, but Saint John the Baptist. Of course. Sei had told me he was a patron saint of French Canada. I looked again. The cross was rather a walking stick shaped as a cross. For John the Baptist had not been crucified, had he? Rather beheaded and his head served to Salome on a dish.

I turned around to look again at the mosaic, to find a young Asian woman standing there, a tote bag in her hand, looking up at the mosaic herself. She was about Sei's age and height; she dressed well but simply, a white blouse under her raincoat and a simple black skirt going down to her ankles. Her dark hair was cut short, shorter than Sei's, in spite of the fact she didn't look like a boy at all; rather her features were those of a beautiful noblewoman of the sort one reads about in the Tale of Genji. Perhaps one who had already renounced the world.

Before turning away from Saint John the woman made the sign of the cross.

---  
Les filles du lys de la montagne, chapter four  
---  
A Maria-sama ga miteru (Marimite) fanfic by Paul Corrigan  
---  
Marimite concept devised by Oyuki Konno  
---

--Hé, toé! Ta blonde s'est levée!

--Hein? Déjà?

--Déjà? C'est huit heures, déjà! Envoye, lève-toé pis rend-móe mon sofa! Bouge!

When I came downstairs that morning Sei was still on the couch where she'd slept that night. On noticing me coming into the living room Madeleine rose from her chair at the kitchen table where she'd been having breakfast, and went over to Sei to shake her and cajol her (I guessed) to her feet. Sei sat up, greeting me in Japanese with:

--Morning, Shimako. You sleep okay?

--Yes, thank you...how are you feeling this morning?

--Like shit.

In fact Sei didn't look very well, her eyes bleary and bloodshot. The club clothes she had worn the previous night looked like it. I turned to Madeleine to ask as best I could in French:

--Sei...elle va bien?

--Of course she's all right! replied Madeleine in English. She does this every weekend. Come on! Get up! she barked at Sei, thumping her lightly with the pillow Sei had been using last night. I told you a thousand times, don't sleep on my sofa!

--Shimako was in my bed. I had to sleep somewhere...

--Last week your girlfriend wasn't here and you slept on the sofa anyway. Come on, get up!

--She's not my girlfriend...

--Move!

Madeleine must have been trying to sound harsh, but she didn't really sound much harsher than a mother trying to get a reluctant, whiny child out of bed and ready for school. Certainly Madeleine wasn't so annoyed as to be unable to turn to me and ask with the sort of apologetic smile the mother might wear:

--I'm sorry, Shimako. Do you want some breakfast?

In fact I have never liked breakfast, and I rarely eat before noon.

--No, thank you, I replied.

--Are you sure? replied Madeleine, with a conspiratorial smile on her lips. I thought Sei wanted to show you the whole of Montreal today!

--Just say yes, all right? put in Sei in Japanese. She wants someone to talk to, and I'm not gonna be any use...

--Que c'est que tu lui racontes, toé? asked Madeleine suspiciously.

--J'ai dit que tu veux jaser pis y te faut une nouvelle victime, said Sei, able, weak as she was, to manage one of her evil grins.

--Comment! Envoye, said Madeleine, thumping Sei again, lève-toé!

--Okay, okay, simonac! answered Sei, rubbing her face with her hands before finally getting to her feet.

--Are you sure you're all right? I asked her.

--I'll live. Madeleine's right, I do this all the time. I'm usually fine by lunchtime...anyway, I didn't think we'd be heading to McGill much before lunchtime. What are you doing up so soon? You got what? Five hours of sleep?

--Eight o'clock's late for me. It's an hour from Shoguji to Lillian in the morning...

--Oh. Right. Yeah, I remember that routine...

Having reclaimed her sofa, Madeleine did not actually sit on it for now, but returned to the kitchen to resume her breakfast. Sei sat back down on the arm of the sofa.

--So. What do you wanna do? You wanna go to McGill right away? Or...

--Well, I had actually thought this morning would be a good time to go to Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours. If that's all right...

--Oh. Right. Might as well get that out of the way. Mother Superior'll kick your ass if you don't go, eh?

Sei chuckled at her own joke, then grimaced and rubbed her temples.

--Right. I'll take some aspirin, splash some water on my face, I should be good to go...

--Actually, Sei...

--Hm?

--If you're really not feeling well, I can go on my own. We could meet at lunch, when you're feeling better. Would that be all right? It's at Champ-de-  
Mars station, right?

Sei looked a little surprised, not to say skeptical.

--Well, no, it's not right there. You'd have to walk a ways...You sure you wanna go by yourself? I'll come with you to Bon-Secours, I've survived worse than this...

--It's fine. If I get lost I'll ask. I'm a big girl, you know, Sei. I can look after myself for a couple of hours.

I had said that to tease her, not to mention I had thought too that Sei would be relieved at being excused from having to go. As it was, though, she hesitated, as if trying to think of some objection. Finally she smiled, chuckled and answered:

--Guess you're better at it than me.

She stood up, adding:

--Okay. We can have lunch in Chinatown. You wanna meet up at Champ-de-Mars--I dunno--12:30? We can go to McGill after that. Unless you want to meet earlier...

--No, that's fine. We have all day really, right?

--Yeah. McGill's not going anywhere, I guess...

--Shimako? Sei? called Madeleine from the kitchen. Do you want breakfast or shall I eat it all?

--J'veux pas déjeuner, Madeleine. J'vais en haut, all right? Shimako, I'll be upstairs, okay?

Sei did not go directly upstairs, going instead to the bathroom, to look, I suspected, for aspirin.

I was a bit intimidated by the sight of the table when I entered the kitchen. No wonder Sei had complained about putting on weight. Madeleine Cadieux's table was laid out with bacon, sausage, eggs and buttered toast, far more than two people would be wise to regularly eat on their own, I was sure. Then again, Madeleine had been eating on her own before I came down. It wouldn't have surprised me if she had been able (and willing!) to eat all that without my help.

--Just a cup of coffee, please, I said as well as I could.

--You don't want to eat? said Madeleine. All you want is coffee?

--Yes, please.

--Not even milk? she said, picking up a bottle.

--No, thank you.

Madeleine shrugged, poured me some coffee and sat back down to her breakfast. I found myself saying with a bow before I sat down, as if Sei had been my own child:

--Thank you very much for looking after Sei.

I heard the toilet flush, and then the sound of Sei heading upstairs.

--Don't worry! said Madeleine, dismissing the remark with a wave of her hand. She's the best tenant I've ever had. Having her sleep on the sofa's a small price to pay, eh? she added, looking in the sofa's direction. I'm lucky, you know? You don't want to know what I've seen on that sofa when I come downstairs in the morning...that's why I don't let men into this house any more. My husband was bad enough, I should have learned my lesson, eh?

--Is it okay? That I am here?

Madeleine looked surprised that I would ask anything of the kind.

--Of course it is. You're Sei's friend. Why wouldn't it be?

--Sei said...you do not like her...bringing people here.

Madeleine's surprise took on a hint of annoyance.

--Did she say that? I didn't say that. Girls I don't mind. I just didn't want her bringing boys here at night. But she doesn't like boys, so...girls are okay.

--Do you like it here?

--Where?

--In the Village?

Madeleine's expression darkened visibly.

--The gay Village? Listen, this is my mother's house, and it was her house before all those gay people started showing up, all right? She left it to me and I'm not leaving it until I die. And there are rich tapettes who'd kill for this house, I know that well. You know? Well, they'll have to kill me, because I'm not leaving alive!

--Tapettes?

--Queers. Gay guys. You know?

--But Sei is...

--You don't know what it's like. You wake up in the night and hear a couple of men doing you know what or you come downstairs and two men are on your sofa naked like your living room was a...anyway, I don't want to rent to them any more, but I can't say no just because I know they're gay, they'd take me to court, you know, so I don't rent to any men at all. It doesn't matter I don't mind girls. Girls are okay. Sei's okay. She's quiet. She pays her rent on time, we talk, she helps me with the bills...What? You don't think I make her big breakfasts for nothing, do you?

--You speak very good English, I said, trying to change the subject.

I had meant it as a compliment, but Madeleine sniffed, as if I had been patronizing her.

--Of course I speak English! Before I got married I had to work for some fat English jerk in Westmount who didn't speak any French, you know. And he wasn't going to learn French so he could speak to me, okay? In those days you wanted a job at all, you spoke English. Anyway, you don't speak French in Japan, right?

--No...

--Right!...But this jerk lives in Montreal all his life and won't speak French, you know? Then one day finally the French people in Quebec say, that's it, you have to let people speak French at work. And this guy--I didn't work for him any more, I was married by then, it was in the paper--this guy sells his house and moves to Toronto because he said he didn't want to speak French. I said, fine, go to hell, you big jerk!...Anyway, Sei's not like that. Sei's great, you know? She says to me, speak to me in French. I said, I speak English, if you want to learn how to speak French, you can take lessons, right? She says no, they'll teach her how to speak like in Paris, she wants to speak the French they speak in Quebec. Except she calls it le français royal.

--Le français royal?

--Yes! The French of the kings of France! And she knew that! I thought, all right, can't say no to that, right? So I talk to her in French and she learns French (Madeleine snapped her fingers) like that.

--It's hard...you sound different...they do not sound like you in my class...

--What? If it's fine for King Louis it's fine for me, its good enough for an old Montreal woman, eh? So, anyway...

Or Lady Oscar, I thought.

Madeleine took a bite of her eggs, and went on:

--So...really, are you her girlfriend?

--No, I replied. We were just friends. At school.

--All right.

Madeleine looked rather sceptical. She took a sip of her own coffee, and added:

--Could have fooled me, eh. You're the first person she's brought here, you know...In fact you don't know, do you? She's talked about nothing but you for weeks and weeks. She said--so you want to be a nun, eh? A Catholic nun?

I covered my mouth for a moment, trying to stifle an embarrassed laugh, and replied:

--No, not now...She told you I want to be a nun?

--She told me all about you. She really liked it, you wanting to be a nun. Maybe that's the sort of girl she likes, eh?

Madeleine laughed. She had obviously meant it as a joke, but I felt myself beginning to blush all the same. Madeleine must have seen, because she went on:

--But I guess not, eh?

--Well...when I was very young...I want to be a Catholic nun. I tell my father...and he sent me to Sei's school.

--Just like that? asked Madeleine, looking quite taken aback.

I wasn't quite sure how to explain in English, so I just said:

--My father is very nice.

--Hm...okay...I just thought you Japanese were all Buddhists, or something. You know?

--My father is a Buddhist. I was a child...it was silly...

--No, it's not silly. When I was little I wanted to be a nun too. Lots of little girls did. You know...wear the outfit, teach little kids, pray to God all day...you know? Of course I didn't, either...but your father said okay?

--Yes...he knew I was a child, I think. I don't know...

--Okay...because...let me tell you a story, okay?

Madeleine had finished her food. She took a sip of her coffee and went on:

--When I was in high school my class went on--oh, what's the word?--I want to say retraite--my whole class went together with the nuns to Sainte-Agathe for a week. In the Laurentides--the mountains, north of here. Did Sei tell you about them?

--Yes...

--She should take you. It's real nice there.

--Okay...maybe I will ask.

--So anyway, it was like a vacation. From reality I think...anyway...I was fifteen, I felt like I...something was missing. I wanted to be close to God...or nature...or maybe a boy. Probably a boy...

She laughed before going on:

--What? I was a girl like you, right? Younger than you. Anyway, I was in Sainte-Agathe with all my friends, it was lovely, I feel good, and one day, at the end of the week, one of the nuns comes to me and says, Miss Cadieux, did you ever think about wanting to be a nun? Think about it. Let me tell you, it was great being asked that, that the nuns thought I was good enough for that. When I came home I was in heaven! But then...

--What happened?

--My father thinks I'm sick, because I was so happy I wouldn't eat! That was weird, you know. Because in my family we all liked to eat. I still like to eat, you know? You can see that, right?

Madeleine gestured to indicate her plump figure, and went on:

--And he says what happened? And I told him I wanted to be a nun...

--He did not want that?

Madeleine stared at me as if I'd lost my senses.

--Of course not! He didn't want his only daughter to be a nun!

--But...I thought it was an honour...to be a nun...

Madeleine laughed derisively.

--What, are you joking? He said the only reason they wanted me to be a nun because I was pretty and the nuns liked pretty girls. "It's always the smart ones and the pretty ones!" he said. And I was, too! I was a bit big even then, but not that big, and some boys like that, right? My husband did, in the beginning. Then I got big like this and he ran off, the jerk...Anyway, I was smart too. I was the first in my family to go to high school, you know that? I could have gone to university too, but we didn't have the money, it cost too much then...see the world, too, like you and Sei, maybe even Japan, eh? All those temples. I've seen them on TV--say, Sei told me, does your family have a temple or something?

--Yes...it's called Shoguji.

--What?

--Sho-gu-ji, I repeated, drawing out each syllable. In the country...

--Must be really pretty out there. Trees, mountains...like Sainte-Agathe. You should go, eh? Maybe you'll think it's like Japan!...Anyway, I wanted to go to college too, but I knew I couldn't because we weren't rich. Dad said, it's okay, go to high school and you can marry a college boy, right? They don't want to marry dummies. And I did. He was a jerk, but he was smart. Made okay money too. Then I say we should go to the Orient, but he wouldn't go...Anyway, thing was, that was Mom's idea, me going to high school. All her friends said, "Mrs. Cadieux, what are you wasting money like that, sending her to high school? She's just going to get married!"

Madeleine rested her forehead on her hands a moment, resuming her story:

--But oh my God...I thought he was going to go look for the nuns and kill them all!

--Like Sei?

--What?

--You said the nuns like pretty girls...

Madeleine hesitated a moment before answering:

--Yeah, like Sei. Me, I don't know, but my father said they like pretty girls. Except you don't want to know what else he said about them, all right?...Awful things about what he thought they wanted to do to me. So horrible I started crying...anyway, my mother finally told him to shut up, he wouldn't understand! Men are perverts, you know? And Mom comes in to my room and holds my hand, and she asked, do you really want to be a nun? I didn't say anything, I just wanted her there. Because...she didn't actually like nuns very much either, but she was a girl. She did understand, you know?...

--Do you want to be a nun now?

--Pardon? Said Madeleine, a little surprised by the question. Do you mean would I want to be a nun now?

--Yes...

--Hmm...

Madeleine took a long sip of her coffee, suddenly looking a little sad.

--I don't know...I mean, I never did anything about it. It was just a dream. You know? Like a little girl wants to be a ballet-dancer or something, because they all wear pretty dresses, right? Then when she grows up she doesn't think about that any more. I don't know, I think I just wanted the pretty dress. Because they still wore their--oh, what's the word?--they still wore those costumes nuns wear in the movies, right? Not like now, wearing ugly sweaters they got at the St-Vincent-de-Paul, smoking cigarettes...really butch...

--Butch? I asked.

--Yeah, butch! Like a man, you know! Though, Madeleine added, with a conspiratorial smirk, I tell Sei that, and she says, "Hey, I'm butch," and I say to her, you're young and pretty! She looks like a cute boy, eh? The nuns they look like ugly old men! Ugh! Who the hell wants to look like that?

Madeleine suddenly laughed.

--But anyway, whenever I used to fight with my husband, I'd say, I shouldn't have gotten married at all, I should have been a nun!

---

Madeleine was inexhaustible, it seemed, willingly telling me much more of Montreal and how life was there, today and when she was young, sometimes sad, sometimes funny too. If I had let her, she probably could have continued all day--and would--but I had to be off at some point.

I finally managed to excuse myself from Madeleine's breakfast table after two cups of coffee. I went into Sei's room to fetch my bag to take to the bathroom so I could wash and dress there. Sei was in her bed, her back turned to me as I went in. I was as quiet as I could, but still Sei turned around to look at me.

--That you, Shimako?

--Yes...did I wake you?

--No...you taking off, then?

--Just as soon as I wash, yes...

--Okay. I've got an umbrella downstairs. You can borrow it if you like.

--Thank you.

Sei propped herself up in the bed, smiling apologetically, and added:

--Shimako...thanks for dragging my ass home last night. I appreciate it. I'm really sorry about all this...

--Don't mention it any more, Sei, really. I understand. I'll see you at lunch, okay?

--Say...Shimako? asked Sei, looking suddenly more serious.

--Yes?

--I remember saying some crazy stuff last night...you aren't mad, are you?

--What? Why? Because I said I wanted to go to Bon-Secours on my own? You were drunk. Drunk people say all sorts of things. Don't worry about it any more...

--I guess I mean...Shimako, I didn't do anything stupid last night, did I?

--No, why?

Sei smiled again, shook her head and said:

--Never mind...have fun, eh?

---

MERDE  
IL PLEUT

It wasn't until I got outside and opened Sei's umbrella that I realized what it said. I had to laugh. It was just like her to have an umbrella like that.

I walked up rue Panet past the memorial and onto rue Sainte-Catherine towards Beaudry station. It was a rather drab day, making the Village look as worn and tired as Sei, the threatening and absurd names of the stores now looking merely absurd. I saw few people on the street on a weekday morning. At Beaudry station a man was standing outside the SAQ du Village, waiting for it to open. It was the beggar who had accosted us the previous night.

I walked into the station and down the stairs, showed the attendant my card and stepped on the moving sidewalk. It could not have taken more than a minute or so to get to the bottom, but it felt like I was descending for an eternity.

---  
II  
---

--Station Champ-de-Mars.

I had said nothing to the woman at Sherbrooke station, and she had said nothing to me. At Champ-de-Mars she got out first, and I followed her up the stairs. When I reached the top I thought for a moment I had emerged into the chapel.

The south and west walls of Champ-de-Mars station were made entirely of stained glass, banners of red and yellow cut by flourishes of purple, blue, green and white. It probably would have been dazzling in every sense had the weather been a bit better that day; as it was, it was one of the most beautiful pieces of stained glasswork I had ever seen. Perhaps I wasn't in a church, after all, but the glass would have done any church honour. Even the railing, designed to keep the unwary from falling onto the tracks below, couldn't help but make me think of a pew.

I looked around, admiring the stained glass for a few moments, long enough that when I turned around the woman from Sherbrooke station had gone.

It occurred to me I didn't really know where I was going. I approached the metro attendant, a large, moustached Canadian man well into middle age, sitting in his booth reading the Journal de Montréal and looking bored.

--Excuse me, sir...I asked him.

--Yes?

--Where is Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours?

The attendant put down his paper, gave a deep sigh, as if he had long since tired of answering questions from tourists, and replied in a thick Canadian accent, pointing towards the right-hand door:

--Okay, you go out the door then go right, you know, then through the tunnel. Then you go up the hill on rue Gosford, you know, to Château Ramezay, then down the hill to Marché Bonsecours. That's the big building with the dome, you know? The street is rue Saint-Paul. Then you turn left. You can't miss it, okay?

--Thank you.

--You're welcome, said the attendant, returning to his paper.

I couldn't help noticing an ATM just by the door. Another OSCAR. This one had a picture of a man and woman sharing an apple, with the caption

OSEZ SÉDUIRE

---

A freeway separates Vieux-Montréal from the rest of the city. Crossing the bridge to the tunnel felt like crossing a frontier with all the nervousness that gave me when I had gone to Italy, and when I had come here. The tunnel was dark as the station itself had been bright, and neglected; the escalator was out of order and looked like it had been for some time. I walked quickly through the tunnel, looking behind me every few seconds, only to be greeted at the very end by a beggar, an odd-smelling cigarette smouldering by his side. He said nothing to me as I passed, not even to ask for change. I opened the door, and stepped out into the old city.

I started up the hill. On the hill I saw two fine old buildings, one flying a white flag with emblems in each of the quadrants; a rose, a thistle, a shamrock, and a fleur-de-lis; public buildings of some kind, I supposed. Below them both was a small treeless field, run through by a sort of ditch lined with stone.

At the top of the hill was Château Ramezay, which turned out to be a museum. As I started down it really was impossible to miss Marché Bonsecours' silver dome.

At first blush I thought rue Saint-Paul looked as it must have long ago; the street was cobbled, with antique street-lamps and trees, now just turning yellow, lining the sidewalk, and the Marché itself, built of stately grey stone like the buildings on the hill, the façade just below the dome with classical columns, topped by a coat of arms with the same device as the white flag, and a name that looked as it might have in Queen Victoria's day:

MARCHÉ BONSECOURS.

Across the street from the Marché were house fronts in grey stone, long since converted to shops, with colourful names like Tant qu'il y aura des fleurs and Saveurs de Provence. Just out front of the Marché somebody had placed a hot-pink sign with black letters reading GRANDE BRADERIE DE MODE QUÉBÉCOISE. Sei had complained that it was a poor imitation of Paris? This was how I had always thought a street in Paris would look, as it would have looked in a story book, or perhaps, in Rei's comics. Would Marguerite Bourgeois have recognized this place? Perhaps not; her Montréal was very primitive. I remembered that much from school. But Lady Oscar might, perhaps.

I couldn't help but think of Rome too, how Yumi would have cheerfully dragged me into every clothes store in the city, begging to know if I could tell her which dress or hat made her look cuter. It was now I started wishing she had been there to drag me into la Grande braderie de mode québécoise, possibly insisting on trying on ever single beaver cap and fur coat in the place. She could not have afforded to buy a single one, probably, but that wasn't the point of course; I had let her drag me to drag me out of myself.

As it was, there weren't many tourists here either that morning braving the drizzle on an autumn day. I couldn't help feel a bit of melancholy. I would like to say it was the rain, but I don't think so--I should have been pleased to have Vieux-Montréal all to myself as it were--but...someone once said God created man because he needed someone else to share the beauty of creation.

I shook myself. Perhaps having others around merely helped me shake me out of my melancholy.

The attendant had been right. The bell tower of Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours, of copper long since turned green with patina, was clearly visible on the corner (of course) of Rue Bonsecours. As I approached, I could see at the back of the church a large statue of Our Lady, also in green patina, her arms outstretched towards the Saint-Lawrence River beyond. On the side of the church was hung a large sign reading TRAVERSEZ PLUS DE 2000 ANS DE NOTRE HISTOIRE.  
MUSÉE MARGUERITE-BOURGEOYS CHAPELLE NOTRE-DAME-DE-BON-SECOURS

I tried the door. Locked. I had come a bit too early. What to do? Across the street from Bon-Secours were a self-styled Artisanat Canadien, and a restaurant Filles du Roy.

I stepped into the Artisanat Canadien. It turned out to be a souvenir shop of the nicer sort, nice enough I took shelter inside for a few minutes. (I had seen plenty of the nastier sort in Rome to want to give them a clear berth.) Inuit sculptures, lily flowers (fleurs-de-lis, of a sort) made of leather, and cards with American Indian designs. One card, depicting a goose with her goslings, was named "Mother and Child." I decided to get it for Father.

I couldn't help but notice as well a can containing a small toy polar bear, reading:

CANNED POLAR BEAR CAUTION: THESE POLAR BEARS HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO LIE IN WAIT UNDER YOUR COVERS AND SNUGGLE YOU TO SLEEP.

I had to giggle. Very well, I thought. Yumi will get her polar bear after all!

I paid for the gifts, left the shop and returned to the door of Bon-Secours. Just above the door of the chapel were another mother and child, Our Lady with the Christ Child in her arms, both gold-plated, and the inscription

SI L'AMOUR DE MARIE EN TON COEUR EST GRAVÉ EN PASSANT NE T'OUBLIE DE LUI DIRE UN AVE

What could a student of Lillian Academy do, but salute Our Lady wherever she saw her, not least when she had been specifically directed to do so? I put my hands together, bowed my head and said a Hail Mary as I had been taught.

--Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners...

I was distracted just then by the noise of the wooden doors being unbarred. I looked up to see a young man, dressed in the costume of a New French colonist of the 17th century, opening the door of the sanctuary. He obviously guessed I was a tourist, because he greeted me with:

--Bonjour, pèlerine.

---

The chapel was brightly lit up even on this cloudy day, light-coloured pews, perhaps of pine. Before my eyes, dominating the wall behind the altar, was a beautiful depiction of her Assumption into heaven. I dipped my hand into the font of holy water as I had been taught, made the sign of the cross, and walked in.

At the back of the chapel were brochures in English, French, even one in Japanese. I took one of the French prayer cards and walked up the aisle, looking from side to side as I walked up the aisle. On the right were stained glass depictions of scenes from the life of Christ: his birth, his presentation at the temple in Jerusalem, the flight of the Holy Family into Egypt, his preaching in the Temple as a boy. On the left were parallels from the life of his mother: her birth, her presentation at the temple by Ste. Anne and St. Joachim, her parents, her marriage to St. Joseph, the Annunciation. On the ceiling above the altar was a painting of Mary's being crowned queen of heaven. Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours was Our Lady's house, as much as it was her Son's.

When I saw the chapel at Lillian for the first time in junior high school, and ever after, even on happy occasions like the Maria Festival, I always found it dark and sombre, only barely lit up by the stained glass windows even on a bright summer day. It was bare too: aside from the stained glass and the crucifix over the altar, there was nothing, save a statue of Our Lady, looking most out of place in her Son's house. I did not find it so odd, once I had been at Lillian Academy a while; the school as a whole was just as bare, even the Rose Mansion. It was not as dark, but just as bare, with only a few colourless prints in frames to brighten the walls. I had once asked Mother Superior why that was. "If the girls that come to Lillian Academy can't escape the distractions of this world here, where will they escape them?" she'd said, a twinkle in her eye. But I had always wondered why the house of Our Lord was so dark and drab when the Garden of Maidens, where Our Lady stood, was so brightly decorated by nature. Perhaps that was as each wanted it; to Our Lord austerity, to Our Lady beauty.

That was Lillian's chapel as it was. Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours was how I had imagined it would be.

It was, of course, Ste. Marguerite's as well. Off to the left of the altar was a shrine to Ste. Marguerite herself, containing her remains. To one side by the wall were candles one could light for intentions, the kind one sees in every Catholic church. In the front pew a worshipper was praying. I put a coin in the slot, took a candle and lit it. I knew I should pray.

But for whom? Or what? I took a closer look at the prayer.

--Béni sois-tu, Dieu de toute sainteté, pour la vie de Marguerite Bourgeoys. Donne-nous de vivre comme elle, passionément enracinés à ton projet d'amour sur chacune de nos vies. Qu'à l'exemple de sa vie voyagère, nous allions là ou il y a quelque bien à faire ou quelque oeuvre de charité à exercer, toujours assurés du bon secours de Marie.

"May we, following her example, go where there is good to be done or a work of charity to be carried out, always assured of the good help of Mary." Of course; this was the church of Our Lady of Good Help. Was it she who had made way for me to come here? And why?

For Sei's sake? It might be for her sake. Sei must be unhappy. She was certainly lonely. I was not even sure the friends she had spoken of really existed; perhaps she had invented them to put me at ease. She was a solitary person by nature. So was I, which is why we had gotten along so well. No, that wasn't quite true. I--she--needed one person, no more, no less, to be content. That was why rue Saint-Paul had seemed so melancholy; it was beautiful, yes, but I knew I needed at least one other person to share it with, Yumi, Noriko...Sei.

I prayed to Our Lady and to Ste. Marguerite, for Sei. And for myself, for a sign of what I had been brought here to do, and the courage to do it.

---

Mother Superior had asked for a rosary from Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours. I thought, in the gift shop next to the church, I might have bought her much more than that. Books about Ste. Marguerite and the Congrégation de Notre Dame de Montréal dominated a shelf and a table. Religious articles of all kinds, icons, crosses, bells, statues of the Archangel Gabriel, the Holy Family, and Ste. Marguerite herself, dominated a wall. Pictures and postcards of Popes Benedict and John Paul, Vieux-Montréal, Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours, and Ste. Marguerite sat by the window.

One caught my eye, a picture of an old woman in a habit, her hands holding a rosary, clasped together in prayer. I recognized it, of course; Mother Superior had a print of it over her desk at school. It was the True Likeness of Ste. Marguerite. I took one, planning to mail it later.

The rosaries were on the wall opposite from the statues. I picked out a wooden one for Mother Superior.

I remembered the rosary around my own wrist. I had not taken it off in bed, and it was still on my wrist. It occurred to me I should get something for Noriko. But what? And after all, what could I possibly get her at a Catholic church? Would it even be appropriate now? She had returned the rosary I had given her to me.

But then, she would need one for her own petite soeur. Noriko had said she had returned my rosary for fear she would be unable to let me go later. I was afraid she must be lonely too.

In Rome I remembered Yumi and Yoshino staring at rosaries, meaning them for their petites soeurs. Which of them had said it was sad to pick out a rosary for someone you did not know yet? I did feel a bit sad myself, taking down a metal rosary. But I did hope to see Noriko's petite soeur one day.

I brought the rosaries and the postcard to the young woman at the cash register.

--Is that all? asked the woman.

--Yes...excuse me...the True Likeness...where is it?

--The True Likeness? said the woman. It's here, in the museum. Would you like to see it?

---

A staircase led me up sixty-nine steps towards the lookout at the top of the church. It was a little chilly, and the view would probably have been better on a brighter day, but that was all right; looking west I could see a good part of the Old City. On the banks of the St. Lawrence River was a clock-  
tower of white stone; across the river was a large island, dominated to the west by some presumably very modern buildings that looked like a collection of concrete blocks, and more to its centre, in front of me, by a structure that looked like a large spherical molecule. I'd have to ask Sei what those were later. To my left the Radio-Canada building, marking Sei's house.

I could not see Our Lady here, but her statue must have been just above me, because on each side of the lookout was a green patina angel, acting as her guard.

In the chapel I had seen model ships hung from the ceiling as I passed through the aisle. A small staircase led down from the lookout to an exhibit room describing the terrors of sea travel in the days of Ste. Marguerite and long after, and of how the sight of the statue of Our Lady at the "Sailor's Church" would have been the first thing a sailor would have seen on arriving at Montreal. There was a list of sayings in English and French about the dangers of travel by ship. One caught my eye:

SI TU VEUX APPRENDRE À PRIER, VA SUR LA MER

---

--Keeping the memory alive. That is the new vocation of Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours. Within its walls, each layer of soil and each archaeological find evoke the spiritual and material past of the site. We are invited to become pilgrims ourselves, to visit the strata of history and discover the past. Who knows what we will bring back from our journey...

The crypt, in the basement, was the remains of the first church at the site of Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours. Kept down there were all manner of objects from the church's history: angels, even a statue of Our Lady that had once decorated the chapel upstairs. In a few exhibit cases were portraits of Ste. Marguerite, Lord Maisonneuve, priests, bishops, as well as of nuns of the Congrégation de Notre Dame, as well as some holy medals.

In one exhibit case was an old child's reader, once used in the schools of the Congrégation, open to the following poem:

Trois petits loups dans un grand bois  
--C'est un conte de ma grand-mère,  
Virent passer avec son père,  
Un petit garçon, une fois  
Le premier loup dit, Qu'il est rose!  
Le second loup dit, Qu'il est blanc!  
Le troisième dit une chose  
Que je ne redis qu'en tremblant...  
Ils voulaient manger l'enfant rose,  
Le petit garçon rose et blanc.

--Sit down. I'll make us some tea.

--No, please...that should be my job.

--I insist.

During an idle moment Rosa Chinensis en bouton had dragged me to the Rose Mansion out of the blue on Lillian's Field day. It had been a day like this in autumn when the leaves were turning. Rosa Chinensis en bouton looked more than a little odd, making tea in her physical education outfit. It wasn't even that she was fumbling over the effort of making the tea herself, as if she had never done it before; I suspected she had rarely had to do it on her own. The fact was Sachiko Ogasawara was not the sort one would imagine deciding to make someone tea out of the blue just out of kindness.

I sat down. At last the tea was drawn, and Rosa Chinensis en bouton put a cup in front of me, and took a seat beside me, not in front of me as I had expected.

--What was it you wanted to see me about, Rosa Chinensis en bouton?

--I meant to ask you, Shimako...I'd like you to be my petite soeur.

Most first-years, I knew, would have committed murder to hear those words from the beautiful Rosa Chinensis en bouton, but when I heard them myself my heart froze.

--Me? I managed to get out, trying not to display my shock.

--Is that all right?

--Well...I don't think...

--Please, please, no false modesty. You know as much about the duties and responsibilities of the Yamiyurikai as anyone. You've displayed the conscientiousness a Yamiyurikai member needs. You get on well with us all. Oneesama's particularly taken with you. You'll make an excellent Rosa Chinensis one day, we've both agreed on that. Are you interested?

It sounded like a sales pitch. I had rarely seen Rosa Chinensis en bouton smile, and it looked a little forced. I noticed too she was sitting a bit too close, looking at me a bit too intently.

--Rosa Chinensis en bouton, I asked at last, did Rosa Chinensis ask you to ask me that?

--I wouldn't have asked you without her permission, she replied, not answering the question.

--I mean, I said, looking away, doesn't it worry you that we barely know each other?

Rosa Chinensis en bouton's smile faded.

--We know each other as well as you know anybody else on the Yamiyurikai.

--I'm sorry, Rosa Chinensis en bouton, I said politely, but I'm going to have to refuse.

--Hm. Perhaps that's not well enough. But if you don't know me well enough, you don't know anybody else on the Yamiyurikai well enough. For some there's more to know than for others. I'm asking to be your grande soeur, not your wife. I know whose wife I'm going to be. That was decided a long time ago.

Rosa Chinensis en bouton's smile had turned into a full fledged scowl. She rose to go.

--Shimako Todo, one does not choose one's grande soeur, it is the grande soeur who chooses.

She closed the door behind her as she left the room. I finished my tea, not wishing to follow her immediately, to save her embarrassment.

When I came back to the sports field, I saw Rosa Chinensis with her bouton. Chinensis en bouton was still scowling, but Chinensis herself was covering her mouth, stifling laughter. I managed to come close enough to hear, but not close enough for them to notice me pass.

--You don't take rejection very well, do you, Sachiko!

--But just like that!

--Jealous? I would be.

--Oneesama!

--Actually, I thought she might say that. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear! Whatever will Rosa Gigantea say?

--What! You did this on purpose?

--Is she that stubborn? No wonder I can't help but like her. The one reminds me of the other. I am a little jealous. But they'll make a good match, no?

--She'll be waiting a long time!

Rosa Gigantea offered me her rosary the very next day, under the turning leaves of the cherry tree where I had first met her.

I suddenly found the crypt rather chilly. I headed for the steps upstairs.

--

On the ground floor was a wall exhibit, sketching Ste. Marguerite's life. What really caught my eye was a table on which were laid out the comic books Sei remembered, telling of Ste. Marguerite's life. There was even one in Japanese, which I was sure I had lying around somewhere.

Another staircase led down to an elevator to take me to the second floor. Along the wall were scenes from the life of Ste. Marguerite, arriving for the first time at Quebec City, traveling up the St. Lawrence, arriving at last at Montreal.

Up the elevator was a pleasant surprise, one that couldn't help but make me smile and laugh when I saw it--the life of Ste. Marguerite, detailed in scenes peopled by dolls, made over the years by the nuns. As a child might have told it, as Sei probably learnt it. How Marguerite was a frivolous girl, the daughter of a rich candle-maker in France, loving fine cloth and jewellery. How she had seen a statue of Our Lady on Rosary Sunday and been so moved by its beauty she wanted to become a nun. At last she became a teacher for the Congregation de Notre Dame de Troyes; when she had problems, she went to church to pray. One day, Lord Maisonneuve invites her to come teach in Canada.

One scene caught my eye: "The decision to leave for Canada is a difficult one, but Marguerite knows that the Blessed Virgin supports her choice." I knew the story behind that scene; Our Lady had appeared to Ste. Marguerite, dressed all in dazzling white, saying to Marguerite, still wondering whether she should go to Canada: "Go, I will not abandon you."

In the scene were dolls of Ste. Marguerite and Our Lady. I couldn't help but think the doll of Our Lady looked like a bride.

---

Our Lady never had appeared to me.

I can no longer remember where I did get the idea that I wanted to be a Catholic nun. Perhaps it was as Madeleine Cadieux had said, that it was a childish fancy, of the sort one might get from a child's comic book; a girl might want to be a nun, or a ballerina, or a bride, so she could wear a pretty dress. Something frivolous like that. I mightn't have been the only one; heaven knew there were plenty of frivolous rich girls at Lillian Academy. It was only when I got there that I saw that not only were the nuns rather old, they no longer even dressed as I had imagined; the Congregation had not required one for many years. They dressed modestly, though well, often better than the lay teachers; but there was nothing to distinguish them from the lay teachers, beyond the fact that they tended to be by far the oldest at the school. The only one who still wore her old habit was Mother Superior. I remember asking her why that was; after all, she was not even the oldest nun at Lillian.

--It's like my skin, child, she had replied. I can't remove that, can I?

--No, of course not, I answered.

--Besides, she had gone on, a twinkle in her eye, nobody would take me seriously without it.

She might have meant it, too. It marked her as a figure of authority. But Mother Superior could only say that because she did not actually pretend to be anything other than another human being; it helped that she liked me, too. Once I realized she was just another human, though, though I was baptised at last, with Mother Superior as my godmother--something she often did for those occasional students who decided to convert--I no longer felt the urge to become a nun.

That was all right with Mother Superior.

What had always struck me as odd was why my father had gone along with my fancy so readily. To be sure, Lillian Academy was one of the best girl's schools within a hundred kilometers of Shoguji, Catholic or otherwise; I never regretted being sent there. But it wasn't just that. I had asked his permission to go, as I had told Sei, but it had not actually been my idea to go to Canada. One day in spring, just after my baptism at Easter, he called me into his office at Shoguji.

--Shimako, he asked, have you thought about where you'd like to go to university?

--I'm not sure, Father, I replied. Perhaps Lillian.

--Hm.

My father thought a moment, and went on:

--The truth is, Fujiwara called me the other day. He asked about you. You remember him, yes?

--Yes I do, I answered.

In fact I only remembered a little. They had been friends when they were young men, but that was as much as I really knew. I had only been a small child when Mr. Fujiwara had last visited Shoguji.

--He asked if Shimako mightn't want to come and study there--in Canada I mean. You could stay with him if you liked. I wanted to know if you thought that was a good idea.

--What?

--Or don't you?

--Father! I said, laughing nervously. He must have been just being polite! I couldn't impose on him like that!

--No, of course not...but I thought it was a good idea. It wouldn't even have to be Vancouver. I was thinking of your friend Sei too. Where did she go again? Toronto?

--No, Father. Montreal.

--Perhaps you could go there, have a look there, as well as Vancouver. I remember her being very fond of you. She would be glad to see you, surely?

--But Father...Is this really all right?

--Of course it is. Would I have made such a suggestion if it wasn't in my power to follow through on it? We're not poor, you know.

--I mean...who will look after you?

Father laughed.

--What? I'm not that old yet!

--I mean...isn't my place here?

On the wall of my father's office was a wooden Buddha. He rose, walked over and touched the Buddha a moment, contemplated it, before going on:

--I've always wondered if your place was here.

--Father...I don't understand.

Father went on, looking at the Buddha, wistfully:

--If one is truly looking for the Way, then it's a small price to pay to walk all the way to the West to find it. When you asked to go to Lillian Academy, I thought, very well. All you had to do was take a bus into the city.

He looked back at me, adding:

--So, did you find it there?

I did not reply. Who but the most vain person would have said "Yes, I have found enlightenment," even if it were true? And for all I had learned at Lillian, I did not think it was true.

My silence must have been answer enough, because he went on:

--Very well. Perhaps you really do need to go to the West. You won't even have to walk. It's just a short ride on an airplane.

--But Father, I asked, are you sure I'd find it there?

--I wonder...but then...

He turned back to the Buddha, musing:  
--But then...if I could have found enlightenment at Shoguji, selling charms to tourists and schoolgirls come to pray for boyfriends, I'd have found it long ago. Fujiwara asked me to come with him, when he left. Did I ever tell you that, Shimako?

He never had. My father did not talk about himself much. I had never thought very hard of him as ever having been anything than the priest at Shoguji, much less that he had ever had any doubts or that I would ever hear them speak them so bluntly.

--No, Father...did you want to?

--Certainly I wanted to.

--Then why didn't you go?

Father turned back to me, smiling sadly.

--Your grandfather wouldn't let me. He said my place was here.

---

There was one more room, containing relics of the Congrégation and their work: photos of the sisters with their pupils through the generations; drawings and paintings of their Mother House, now long since removed to another part of the city; books on history, chemistry, trigonometry; a globe; even cutlery from the refectory of one of their schools in Montreal.

In the next room, the very last, was the True Likeness of Marguerite Bourgeoys.

The True Likeness was not the only painting in the room. On the left-hand wall was another painting of Ste. Marguerite that I had never seen before. I looked at it for a few moments. It was more idealized, symmetric, Ste. Marguerite's face looking a good fifteen years younger, a smile on her lips.

The True Likeness itself was the centrepiece of the back wall, with relics of Ste. Marguerite in a glass case in front of it, and some of her sayings written on the wall on each side. Before the True Likeness were set a few chairs, on which one might sit, reflect and pray in the presence of the True Likeness. One one of the chairs a woman sat in prayer.

When I turned to look at her, after looking at the relics, I saw it was the woman I had met at Sherbrooke station.

---  
III  
---

The woman from Sherbrooke station looked up as I looked towards her.

--Excusez-moi, I said, thinking I had disturbed her prayer.

--Tiens, pourquoi? she responded, with a reassuring smile. Her Japanese accent was unmistakable.

--Gomen nasai, I tried again in Japanese.

--Iie, daijobu, she answered. It's quite all right.

--I should get out of your way, I said.

--Well, then, why don't you sit? she said, indicating the seat beside her.

I sat as she had asked, and we sat in silence for a few moments, looking at the True Likeness. It was she who broke the silence, asking me:

--I saw you looking at the other painting a moment ago. You seemed rather taken by it. I was afraid it had led you astray.

--Led me astray?

I looked towards her. She was still smiling, now a hint of a tease in her eyes.

--You wouldn't be the first.

--No...I just had never seen it before. How could a painting lead me astray?

--What do you think of it, then?

I thought a moment.

--Ste. Marguerite looks much younger. Healthier. In the True Likeness she looks like she is in pain...

--No. The woman over there is not Ste. Marguerite.

--What do you mean?

The woman looked back at the True Likeness, and went on to tell a story:

--That is the true face of Ste. Marguerite, as she lay dying. It was painted just after her death. Anybody who had known her would have recognized the face in the painting as hers. The years passed, and the time came when nobody remained who had known Marguerite Bourgeoys or seen her face. The sisters were sure Marguerite Bourgeoys could not have looked like that, such a frail old woman. So little by little, over the generations, they altered the painting to make her look how they thought she would have looked. How they were sure Mother Bourgeoys must have looked. One day, not long ago, a man who had spent many years studying art took a look at the painting, and said at once, "This is not Mother Bourgeoys!"

She pointed back to the painting on the wall, going on:

--He was sure the men of her time would not have painted her that way. They would have painted her as she was, not as the sisters thought she should be. But even so they copied the painting of Mother Bourgeoys--for that is how they thought of it--and gave the real painting to the man. He carefully removed the paint, and found there was another painting underneath. The True Likeness of Ste. Marguerite.

The woman turned back to the True Likeness.

--Her expression is of pain. But of compassion. Like that of Christ on the cross...perhaps. You see...nobody in this world now knows what Christ looked like. And men in their folly have depicted him as they thought he ought to look, with fair hair and blue eyes, perhaps, not as he was. Even men of great faith saw him through a glass darkly, at best. The darkness being their own folly and pride. We are lucky to see Ste. Marguerite as she really was. Only the saints in heaven, being purified from sin, are so blessed as to be able to see Christ as he really is...

--I'm sorry, I said at last. You've thought about this much more than I have.

The woman turned to me, laughing softly, looking a little a hint of embarrassment in her expression. It was for all that a beautiful laugh, I thought.

--I'm the one who should be sorry. You were the one who was afraid she was disturbing me. Now I'm the one disturbing you. Forgive me...it's not often I get to speak Japanese any more...

--No, it's not that...it's just...at my school the principal had the True Likeness over her desk. I'd never seen it myself until now.

--This is your first time here, then? asked the woman.

--Yes...yes it is.

--I hope it's not the last. I come here quite often to pray. Not always here, more often in the chapel, but I come as often as I can.

--Actually...how did you get here?

--What? To Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours?

--Yes...you probably didn't notice me, I said. We took the same metro car to Champ-de-Mars, but I didn't see which way you'd gone out. I didn't think you were going the same place as I was...

--Oh!

The woman's eyes widened a little in recognition.

--I remember you now. I saw you at Sherbrooke station this morning. By the mosaic of Saint John...

--Yes...tell me...is one supposed to cross oneself when one sees Saint John?

--What?

The woman laughed a little louder, covering her mouth as she did, blushing a little.

--Is one indeed? Nobody will think you rude if you don't, if that's what you mean. People pass it all the time without even looking at it, never mind making the sign of the cross. But I always do. You must have found it odd!

--No, no...I just wasn't sure.

--Actually, miss...

--Shimako Todo, I said.

--Oh dear, where are my manners? said the woman, offering her hand. Thérèse Kubo.

--Pleased to meet you, I said, struggling with the name, Tei-re-su...

--Very good! said Thérèse.

--Like Ste. Thérèse de Lisieux? I said, taking her hand.

--Yes, that's right.

I squeezed Thérèse's hand gently a moment and let it go. She asked me then:

--I meant to ask...how did you get here yourself, Miss Todo?

--Shimako's fine...

--Is it? Well, then, call me Thérèse!...did you come by the tunnel, Shimako?

--Yes.

--That explains it...I should show you the way I come here from the metro. It's rather safer, and much prettier. Would you like that?

--Oh no, I said, I couldn't impose...

--I'm on my way back anyway. Please.

Obviously I wasn't in any real hurry to get back to Champ-de-Mars station-  
Sei wouldn't be there for quite a while. But knowing a better way to the metro was a useful thing to know, and Thérèse was friendly enough, and apparently glad enough of the company herself, that I couldn't find it in myself to turn her down.

Actually, it was more than that. Thérèse had captured my interest when I had first seen her at Sherbrooke station, and her story about the True Likeness was thought-provoking enough that, in spite of my protests, she had captured my imagination.

Sei had captured my imagination too, under the cherry blossoms at Lillian.

--

We left Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours by the chapel, Thérèse genuflecting at one of the pews as we turned to go, I following suit.

Our conversation about Sherbrooke station had reminded me of something.

--Actually, Thérèse...I asked.

--Yes?

--If you come here often...you must know the chapel very well.

--I know a little...

--Well, then...is Saint John the Baptist here? I couldn't find him.

--Why, of course he is. I'll show you.

By the door of the chapel were several paintings; on one side was a portrait of Ste. Marguerite, beside that a portrait of what I thought was the Holy Family, except there was not just one boy--the boy Jesus--but another boy with him.

--There. John and Jesus were relatives. There they are together, at play.

--

MERDE IL PLEUT

It was, in fact, still drizzling somewhat when we stepped outside the church, but I was still a little reluctant to open Sei's umbrella.

--That's an interesting umbrella, said Thérèse.

--It's not mine, I replied, trying not to sound too defensive.

--Oh? She replied. Whose is it then?

--It belongs to a friend. I'm staying with her in Montreal.

So we walked together along rue Saint-Paul, back past the Marché and any number of shops and restaurants, until we finally came to a square. On the corner was a souvenir shop announcing the name of the square:

SOUVENIRS PLACE JACQUES-CARTIER

and a red signpost pointing the way to the Champ-de-Mars metro station.

--Didn't she want to come with you this morning?

--She wasn't feeling well. I'm going to meet her for lunch later.

--I see. She lives in Montreal, then?

--Yes. She goes to McGill. We're supposed to go there after lunch.

--Would you like to go there yourself?

--Perhaps. The truth is, I came here to visit the universities.

--It's an excellent university. I'm planning to go myself, God willing.

Save for a few sightseers gathered under their own clump of umbrellas, perhaps waiting for a guide, Thérèse and I had place Jacques-Cartier to ourselves as we walked up the hill, past the trees planted here with their turning leaves and the souvenir shops and restaurants lining the side of the square.

--Haven't you graduated from high school? I asked. I had been sure she was a bit older than I was.

--Actually, yes I have...I go to Marianopolis College. It's a junior college in Montreal. I wanted to go to McGill when I graduated from there.

--Do you like it?

--Yes...it's one of the best in Canada. The campus is beautiful too, especially in autumn. And, Thérèse added, turning to me, it was founded by the Congrégation. How could I not go?

--The Congrégation de Notre Dame?

--Yes. The truth is, all I know I learned at the schools of the CND.

From the bottom of the hill I could see a pillar at the top, on which a statue stood. It wasn't until we were near the top that I noticed to my right a small park in which another statue stood, a man wearing a modern suit and glasses, his hands outstretched.

--Is that Jacques Cartier? I asked Thérèse, as we approached the pillar.

--Oh no! she replied. That's Admiral Nelson.

--Wasn't he English?

--Well, yes. The English ruled Montreal for a long time, you know.

--And who is that? I asked, pointing to the statue in the park.

Thérèse suddenly got a playful glint in her eye and replied:

--Colonel Sanders.

It was true that the statue's arms were outstretched exactly as were the arms of the statues of Colonel Sanders one might find outside a Kentucky Fried Chicken franchise anywhere in Japan. So it took me slightly longer than it really should have to realize that of course Thérèse was joking.

--No it isn't! I said, covering my mouth, trying not to laugh too loud.

--No, of course it isn't. That's Jean Drapeau. He was mayor many years ago. But I think he looks like Colonel Sanders.

--Really?

Thérèse smiled, now looking very playful, and answered:

--That's why it's nice to have another Japanese person here. When I tell Canadians that they all think I'm mad!

We had reached the top of the hill, a signpost marking the street we had to cross as rue Notre-Dame. A man stood by a horse-drawn carriage, apparently waiting in vain for a passenger, both horse and man looking rather bedraggled.

--Actually, Thérèse...is that really your name?

--What? My Japanese name, you mean? No. But that's what everyone calls me.

--Why is that?

Across rue Notre-Dame was another small square, dominated by a fountain, already turned off for the autumn, and a statue of a man called Vauquelin. I followed Therese to the end of the square. Below us by way of some steps was the field I had seen walking up the hill from Champ-de-Mars station, cut through by the stone-lined ditch. Thérèse stopped at the top of the steps and sat down, not seeming to mind the damp. I gingerly sat down beside her, hoping my skirt wouldn't get too wet.

--The truth is, she said, I'm a novice. With the Congrégation de Notre-Dame de Montréal.

--Oh...!

--Surprised? said Thérèse.

I shouldn't have been. When I had seen her first I had thought she looked every inch a nun. It made perfect sense. But even Mother Superior went by her real name, not the name of a saint.

--Then...did they ask you to take the name of a saint?

--Oh no...they don't do that any more...the truth is...it happened that when I came here to go to school, and I told the sisters at my school I wanted to become one of them...

--At Marianopolis?

--Oh no! At my high school. I finished high school in Canada.

--I see.

--Anyway, Thérèse went on, they told me I was the youngest person they'd had in a long time, who was seriously interested in becoming a sister. They had trouble pronouncing my name, so one of the sisters took to calling me Thérèse, after Ste. Thérèse, because I was so young. So the sisters called me Thérèse, and eventually my classmates called me Thérèse too. And Thérèse became my name.

--But then, Thérèse, I asked, what are you doing here?

--I'm studying to become a sister with the CND, she said. Or didn't I just tell you?

--But you could have studied to be a sister in Japan, surely.

--Our Lady wants me here.

I must have looked amazed, because she added:

--Or don't you believe she does?

--I do...I just wondered how you knew she wanted you to come this far away.

Thérèse suddenly stood, outstretched her arms and said dramatically:

--One morning, when I was fully awake, a tall woman dressed in a robe as of white serge, said to me very clearly: "Go, I will never forsake you."

She suddenly smiled, to reveal she was teasing, and added:

--Perhaps you expected a story like that?

I admit I felt rather foolish to seem to doubt her vocation so much. She dropped her arms, laughed sheepishly as if to apologize for her joke, and went on:

--I wish I could tell it to you myself. I have never had Our Lady show herself so plainly to me as she did to Ste. Marguerite. I only dream of being that worthy. There are some who have seen Our Lady for themselves. I'm not one of them...but I have faith in her all the same. That this is where she wants me to be.

Thérèse sat down beside me again, adding:

--Because, the truth is I owe her my life. To her and Ste. Marguerite.

--Really?

--Yes. The truth is...when I was eight years old my parents and I were in a terrible car accident in Tokyo. My parents were killed, and by rights I should have been too. As it was I was on life support. The doctors had just about given up hope. My mother had gone to one of the schools of the CND, and had kept in touch with one of the sisters. Sister Saori. When she heard what had happened she came to the hospital to pray for the intercession of Ste. Marguerite, and of Our Lady. When my uncle and the rest of my father's family came up from Nagasaki she asked them to do the same. And I completely recovered.

--Because of her intercession? Ste. Marguerite's?

--Yes. And Our Lady's.

--So...that's why you wanted to become a sister, Thérèse? Out of gratitude?

Thérèse looked at me with a surprised, not to say shocked expression.

--Want? Shimako, I didn't choose Our Lady. She chose me. The first thing I was told when I got well enough to understand what had happened was that Our Lady and Ste. Marguerite had saved my life. I owed them everything. I've never forgotten that for a minute. How could I refuse them a thing?

--I'm sorry, I said, feeling foolish yet again.

--Don't be, she said, reassuringly. But you do understand, yes? It is the Lord who calls us to him, not the other way around.

--I do, I said.

I found myself wondered just then how old Sachiko Ogasawara might have been when she was told she was to marry Suguru Kashiwagi. Eight? Seven? Six?

--I'm glad, said Thérèse. Not everybody does.

Thérèse looked out into the rain towards the new city across the freeway, and continued:

--In any case, my uncle took me in, and sent me to the school of the CND in Nagasaki. By the time I was ready for high school, it happened Sister Saori had become the principal at a school in Musashino, and I went there for my first year staying with her at the convent there. But...well, it's a long story, really, but Sister Saori decided that if I really wanted to be a sister, that it was best that I complete my education here.

--Why?

--Well...I need to be ready to go wherever Our Lady sends me. To the missions in Central America, in Cameroon. Or perhaps simply teach school in Montreal, as Ste. Marguerite did. To do that...well, they don't speak Japanese in Africa. It's easier to learn French here than in Japan. Spanish and English too. And besides...

Thérèse looked back at me, a happy look on her face.

--This is the city of Mary.

--The city of Mary?

--Yes. Ville-Marie. That is what Ste. Marguerite herself called it. If the Virgin wished me to sojourn a while in her favourite city, able to go pray at Bon-Secours whenever I pleased...well...even if I could, why would I have refused her? It's a privilege for me to be here.

Thérèse turned back to look towards the city and concluded:

--So I stayed with the sisters here in Montreal and finished high school here. Right now the plan is for me to get a teaching degree. I'll take my vows after that. So...

Sister Saori. That was Mother Superior's name.

--Your school in Musashino, I asked. I don't suppose it was Lillian Academy?

--Why, yes. You're a student there?

--Yes, I said.

--It is a small world! said Thérèse, brightening. Do you like it there?

--Yes, very much. Did you?

--I have many fond memories of the place...it's an excellent school, yes. Is Sister Saori well?

--Mother Superior? Yes, she is...it was she that you stayed with then?

--Yes...

--Shall I tell her you're well?

--If you like!...Actually, forgive me if this sounds odd, but...?

--Go on.

--I remember a hymn we often sang at Lillian, comparing Our Lady to the lily of the mountains...do you know it?

Maria-sama no kokoro  
sore wa yamayuri  
watashitachi mo hoshii  
shiroi yamayuri

Her singing voice was like herself--unadorned, but clear, sincere, and oddly beautiful. I picked up the tune, and sang along with her, though not as well:

Maria-sama no kokoro  
sore wa sapphire  
watashitachi wo kazaru  
hikaru sapphire

She smiled, and suddenly I couldn't help giggling, and she joined in. I had completely forgotten about the drizzle and cold. It wasn't just because of having company, or even having found yet another girl from Lillian Academy here, so far away from home--though that was true as well--but Thérèse was somehow able to put me at ease and comfort, enough that I could sing together with her, a perfect stranger, without feeling at all embarrassed. A feeling I had nothing at all to fear.

Calm.

--Thérèse? I asked.

--Yes?

--If you're not busy--I'd like you to meet my friend that I'm staying with in Montreal. My grande soeur, actually--her name is Sei Sato. Do you remember her?

--Ah!

Thérèse seemed to have frozen, looking utterly thunderstruck. She held her breath a moment.

--Yes, she said at last. Yes, as a matter of fact I do.

--Is something wrong? I asked at last.

Thérèse looked down at the rosary on my wrist, as if noticing it for the first time. She pointed to it, her hand trembling just a little.

--Your rosary...may I look at it for a second?

--What?...of course, I don't see why not, I answered, moving to take it off.

--There's no need to take it off. Do you mind showing me your hand a moment?

I did not refuse, offering her my hand. Thérèse took my wrist in her hand. I couldn't help but notice how amazingly light and soft her touch was just then, how perfectly formed and feminine the hand was.

Thérèse looked at my rosary a moment, saying softly, as much to herself as to me:

--I thought it looked familiar. But then I thought no, it was impossible...

She looked back up at me. I was afraid she would suddenly be jealous, but if she was jealous, I could not see it in her eyes at all. Rather a look of wonder, perhaps.

--You're Rosa Gigantea now? she asked at last, her voice shaking just a bit.

--Yes.

Thérèse let go of my arm. Her hand had begun to tremble just a bit.

--Shimako...when did you say you had to meet Sei for lunch?

--About 12:30. You do want to meet her? She has to know you're here, I added, smiling broadly, trying to reassure her. She'll be overjoyed to see you, I know she...

--I don't think that's a good idea.

--Why? Do you think she'll be angry?

Thérèse did not answer. She said instead:

--I really would like to talk some more, though, Thérèse went on. With you.

About Sei? I wanted to ask. But that would have been an idiotic question.

--With me? I asked instead, not much more idiotic, I know.

--I have to run an errand, though. Will you come with me?

--Near here?

--On the metro it's not far. It won't take long. I'll have you back in time to meet her. We can talk on the metro, if you'd like. Is it all right?

I did not refuse. I could not refuse.

Before me was the true likeness of Shiori Kubo.

TSUZUKU


	5. Chapter 5

At long last is chapter five. Hope it's worth the wait.

Comments welcome.

Paul Corrigan

studiopoutineyahoo.ca

---

I didn't immediately ask what errand Thérèse had to run, or where exactly we were going. She rose and walked down the steps and onto the gravel path, over the ditch and across the grass to the bridge over the freeway, and I followed quickly behind.

--What is this ditch? I asked her.

--Oh, that?...That's the wall of the old city. The field used to be outside it. Soldiers would do their drills here. This is the Champ de Mars, the field of Mars.

I looked ahead of us. Sei had said Chinatown was not far away. Just ahead of us, just over the bridge over the freeway, I could see a building with

Chinese features. The Hôpital chinois de Montréal. With the old wall gone, it

seemed as if the freeway walled off the new city from encroaching on the old.

Separating Sei Sato's world from Shiori Kubo's.

---

Les filles du lys de la montagne, chapter five

---

A Maria-sama ga miteru ("Marimite") fanfic by Paul Corrigan

---

Marimite concept devised by Oyuki Konno

---

I

---

We walked into the station and passed by the ticket booth. The attendant was still reading his newspaper, and barely looked up at us as we passed. It wasn't until we had walked down the steps to the platform that I thought to ask:

--What's in your bag?

--Oh this?...it's cloth for making clothes.

--You make your own clothes?

--All of them.

--I'm impressed, I said. I wouldn't know where to begin! Your work is

beautiful!

--You flatter me. It's not particularly expensive cloth. And I haven't been

making clothes that long. I never made my own clothes in Japan. I taught

myself how here.

I meant it too. It was simple, but Thérèse looked radiant in it, and if it

was the work of a beginner, it didn't show. The skirt seemed almost seamless,

like Jesus' robe.

There were plenty of others on the platform—a sign the next train would not

be long--but even so we sat down to wait.

--But then is clothing that expensive in Canada?

--Oh no. And if it were I could go to the St-Vincent-de-Paul. I used to do

that.

--But then why...?

--Why? Ste. Marguerite didn't have a St-Vincent to go to in the middle of the

Canadian forest, did she? It wasn't like France, where the convents could

live on alms and the nuns could do nothing all day but pray. They would have

starved! No. Ste. Marguerite and her sisters had to be completely self-

sufficient. They couldn't even have traded with the Indians for cloth—the

Indians didn't use it. So they made their own cloth and their own clothes.

Even today the sisters are supposed to have full-time jobs.

--And still make their own clothes?

--Well, no. I do that because I want to. Because, Thérèse added, smiling a

little apologetically, if I told you I was completely self-sufficient, I'd be

lying. Even the sewing machine was given me.

--By whom?

--My cousin. Or I call him cousin, but he's actually my fathers. I'm living

with him at the moment. He owns a Japanese restaurant near Concordia. I work

there part time. I won't live with the sisters for a while yet. To tell the

truth, he was rather surprised when I asked for one.

--So why do you do it? To imitate Ste. Marguerite's example?

As the train entered the station Thérèse replied:

--It's a way to meditate on her. Yes, if you like. To imitate her as best I

can.

---

--Prochaine station, Place-d'Armes.

The metro car was crowded, and we were very lucky that a couple in two

adjacent seats decided to get off at Champ-de-Mars. We grabbed them as

quickly as we could, Thérèse placing her bag by her feet in the aisle.

--Are we going to see your uncle? I asked Thérèse at last.

--No, no. Not yet. I have class this afternoon at Marianopolis.

--Then where...

--Villa-Maria station. It's named after my high school actually. It's right

there by the entrance. I have a friend--an old classmate actually. She works

in a shop nearby. There's something I have to return to her.

--Villa-Maria...that means "City of Mary" too, right? I asked.

--Yes, it does. It's a common name in the city. There's even a skyscraper

named for her. Place Ville-Marie. Didn't I tell you? Thérèse added with a

smile. Our Lady watches us everywhere here.

--What about St. John the Baptist?

--Yes, Thérèse said at last. He watches us here too.

--Station Place-d'Armes.

An old Chinese man got up at the station and walked past us to get out at the stop, kicking Thérèse's bag by accident as he did so. It was enough to knock it over and send a couple of books falling out of the bag and towards me. I picked them up. Japanese comic books, of all things, by a woman called Yamaji Ebine, translated into French. Artwork of tomboyish-looking women on the covers. The name meant nothing to me, but the label did: Asuka Yuri.

--Are these yours? I asked, as I tried to hand them to her as if I hadn't

noticed anything out of the ordinary.

--No, they're not.

Thérèse was smiling as I looked up at her.

--Disappointed?

The train pulled out of the station as I tried to figure out how to answer.

--Prochaine station, Square-Victoria.

--Surprised, I said at last.

--Actually, Thérèse went on, they belong to a friend of mine.

--A Japanese friend?

--Oh no! A Canadian. You'd be surprised. Japanese comics are very popular

here. She insisted I borrow them. I was going to return them.

--May I see?

Thérèse looked a bit surprised herself, but answered:

--If you like.

One of the volumes was called Free Soul. I opened a page at random. Two women

were standing in a city street, talking.

Niki: On a joué ensemble en live, là-bas. Nos trompettes se sont croisées je

ne sais combien de fois. J'ai vecu ça comme une expérience éblouissante de

bonheur, extatique. Et puis il m'a tenue plusieurs nuits dans ses bras. En

clair, ça voulait dire "Voilà, on s'arrête ici." Me voici complètement

libérée de lui. J'ai fini de le poursuivre. L'envie m'a prise de te

l'annoncer. Souviens-toi de tes paroles: "Un père n'est pas un amoureux." Et

alors je suis venue te dire, "tu as raison."

Keito: Niki...

Niki: Il n'est pas trop tard?

Keito: Hein?

Niki: Je veux dire: ton coeur bat toujours pour moi? Si c'est oui, je suis à

toi. Je t'aime, tu sais, Keito.

--Station Square-Victoria.

--You see, Niki seduced Keito. For Niki it was just a fling, but she broke

Keito's heart. Keito thought Niki loved her, but Niki's heart belonged to

nobody but her father, a musician who traveled the world. Niki was a musician

like him. But she had only rarely seen him. Perhaps that made him easier to

love.

I looked up at Thérèse.

--You read it?

--Certainly I read it, said Thérèse.

--Prochaine station, Bonaventure.

--But you're right, she added. I'm as surprised as you are.

Thérèse settled back in her seat, and went on:

--When I lived in Japan, I as convinced that comics were the lowest, trashiest, STUPIDEST books you could possibly read.

She turned to me, smiling sheepishly, and went on:

--But now that I'm here I can't put the blasted things down!

--Why's that? Do they remind you of home, then? I asked.

--Yes, she replied. That's one reason.

Thérese looked away again. I still had the books in my hand. During all this she had not actually made any effort to take them back. I found myself gripping them tightly. There was so much I wanted to ask, and perhaps she wanted me to ask, and perhaps Sei had hoped I would ask. But if I hadn't dared ask Sei, whom I knew as well as anyone, about Shiori Kubo, I could hardly ask Shiori Kubo herself, a woman I had never met before today.

--Sei...at Lillian she knew a Shiori Kubo, I tried at last. Do you remember her?

Thérèse looked back at me, a little too quickly.

--What did Sei tell you about her?

--Nothing, I admitted. Nothing at all.

--Then how...?

--From other people.

--Other people say all sorts of things. You didn't ask Sei yourself?

--I didn't want to. I knew about her. Everyone did. I didn't need to know more. To ask would only have hurt her.

--What did the others say about Shiori Kubo?

--Station Bonaventure.

I hesitated a moment. How to phrase this?

--They said...Sei and Shiori loved each other. That Shiori had to leave Lillian because of Sei. That...it broke Sei's heart.

Thérèse thought about that a moment before replying:

--Yes. Yes, I remember her.

--Prochaine station, Lucien-L'Allier.

We fell silent. Thérèse looked away from me again, her smile gone, replaced with shame. She had not, of course, said, "I'm Shiori Kubo," even though she obviously realized now I knew who she was. She had said "I remember her," the way one speaks of someone long dead.

--Thérèse, I asked, is what they said about Shiori true?

Thérèse did not answer. Rather her face turned reflective, and she said:

--I've thought a great deal about St. John the Baptist while I've been here.

I think it's fitting he be the patron of this place. Don't you?

--What? I hadn't thought about it that much, I admitted, not understanding.

--You know why he went out into the wilderness, don't you?

--Yes, of course, I said. He went into the wilderness, living on nothing but locusts and honey, to baptize and preach the coming of the Messiah.

--Do you think so?

--That's what's written in the Gospel, isn't it?

--It is...but I asked you why he went into the wilderness. He could have baptized and preached the coming of the Messiah in the town. Why didn't he do that, do you suppose?

I thought a moment, the metro stopping as I did.

--Station Lucien-L'Allier.

--Isaiah and other prophets did the same, mortifying themselves in the desert.

Didn't they? I offered at last.

--Yes, said Thérèse. But what occurred to them to do such a thing?

--I'm not sure, I said as the car pulled out again.

--Why? I asked? What do you think that it was?

--Prochaine station, Georges-Vanier.

Thérèse shut her eyes, and was silent a moment. At last she said, or rather recited:

--In the days when the Israelites wandered in the desert the Lord gave a commandment to Moses. To purge their people of sin, the Israelites were to take two goats. One goat was for the Lord. The other was for the demon Azazel. The priests would take the goat for the Lord and sacrifice it. The other goat the priests were to drive away into the desert, taking the sins of Israel with it into some uninhabited land.

--So...the goat for the Lord was Jesus, and John the goat for Azazel?

--It was Our Lord who preached in the town and in the temple, and it was he would be the perfect sacrifice. Many thought John was the Saviour, but he was not. He knew that quite well. For the Saviour had to be free of sin. As it was when He finally came John begged Jesus to baptize him, to cleanse him of his sin.

--What sin?

Thérèse opened her eyes, seeming to be genuinely surprised.

--You're sure you don't know?

--No, I don't, I said, because I didn't. I remembered nothing of any sin St.

John might have committed from the Bible or from catechism.

--The wife of Herod hated John the Baptist, said Thérèse, and taught her daughter Salome to do so. You remember how Herod had Salome dance before him and his courtiers, offering her whatever her heart desired if she did?

--I do, I said. She asked for the head of John the Baptist on a dish.

--Prochaine station, Georges-Vanier.

--I always wondered how a woman could hate a man so much, whom she had never met, that she would have her own daughter dance sinfully before her own father, just to do someone harm. How a daughter could willingly do such a thing. Until one day I realized how it could be.

--What?

--The man Salome called father was not her father, and the man her mother called husband was not her husband. Not in the eyes of God, anyway.

--You mean...

--Yes. I don't know how--but John had sinned with the wife of Herod. When he realized what he had done he fled. That is why Herod's wife hated John the

Baptist, and taught Salome to hate her father. He had disgraced her.

--But couldn't she have said that to...to Herod? That she had been disgraced?

--Well, yes, but how? To condemn him would have been to condemn herself. She would have been stoned as an adulteress, and she knew it. So she waited until the right moment came.

--But...Saint John tried to carry away not just Israel's sin, but his own?

--Yes, said Thérèse. That's exactly what I mean.

--Station Georges-Vanier.

--I...I never thought of it that way, I said at last.

Thérèse suddenly laughed, and said:

--You're not the first person to say that to me! I'm sorry. I mustn't be making much sense!

--Prochaine station, Lionel-Groulx.

--No, it's all right, I said, smiling as best I could to reassure her. I

suppose I thought you might have been a poet.

--What? You mean you think me a poet? You flatter me.

--Well...perhaps you should write down what you told me just now.

--I wonder, said Thérèse. Composition was my worst subject. I asked Mother Superior how to become a better writer once. She said, "If you want to become

a good writer, said Aristotle, become a good person. Then write naturally.

That's why the word of the Lord is like poetry. Because God is good."

I remembered; Mother Superior had said the same thing to us many times in class.

--You don't think you're good enough to write well? I said.

Thérèse looked away again, towards the door of the metro car.

--Nobody is good but God alone, said Thérèse.

--Station Lionel-Groulx.

We fell silent again. When the doors opened a larger number of people got in and out than normal; we must have been at a hub. I couldn't help noticing a young woman with Middle Eastern features get on, clearly pregnant, pushing a stroller onto the car, and sitting in the single seat close to the door.

--Or perhaps his mother Mary.

--Prochaine station, Place-Saint-Henri.

Thérèse must have noticed me looking. It was only then that I noticed the woman's head-covering was bright blue, like Our Lady's would have been. I looked back to Thérèse, a bit too quickly, realizing I'd been staring. Thérèse was looking over at the woman herself, seemingly more at peace, as if she was in fact contemplating Our Lady in the metro car.

--Our Lady might have looked like her. She would have worn a head-covering

like that. That's why nuns wore veils, in imitation of Our Lady. And to think

people get angry to see a woman dressed like that...!

--She reminds you of Our Lady? I asked.

--Oh...! Forgive me. A poet, you called me? A madwoman, more likely!

--No, no...I see what you mean, I said. But would it really have been blue?

--No. No, you're right. That's poetry. And you're right, it's not Mary.

--What do you mean?

--Rather one of her daughters, whom Mary watches over.

I wouldn't have called Thérèse a madwoman either. I would have called her otherworldly to a fault, her world reflected through her faith--no, seeing in this world another world, the one she had seen in the poetry of Scripture, able to see Our Lady effortlessly in a fellow passenger on the metro car, or to greet the Baptist whenever she saw him, when any other would have see public art and passed on, if they'd noticed it at all. The precise opposite of Sei Sato. I could easily see Sei calling Thérèse mad.

Or was she? I knew Sei had always liked to read. The world of the imagination appealed to her. Perhaps it had been Thérèse Kubo's otherworldliness that captured Sei's heart, bypassing her affected cynicism by way of her imagination.

--Station Place-Saint-Henri.

--A daughter of the queen of heaven, and its king, her son. You heard in the museum about the filles du roi, didn't you? said Thérèse, as if it had reminded her of that very question.

--Yes...women brought to be wives for the settlers in Canada, I said. Ste.

Marguerite trained them how to keep house...right?

--Prochaine station, Vendôme.

--There was more to it than that. They were women and girls from orphanages, institutions, the streets. They would have had no idea how to keep house.

They never had anything like a normal life. Ste. Marguerite would have had to teach them everything. Who would have had a woman like that? No sane man in

France. So the daughters of the king were rounded up and transported to Canada to be wives for the settlers, so France would be rid of them. France driving its sins into the wilderness...

--Why? Had they led sinful lives?

--Some had. But not all. Not even most. And even those who had...as many had been betrayed by those wanting to sin than sinned of their own accord.

Thérèse sighed, looking sad, and went on.

--Not everyone can tell the difference.

--But then, I offered, Canada must have been their chance for redemption, either way. To start again...

--Yes. That's it exactly.

Thérèse seemed to cheer at that thought. She looked back at me, going on:

--They lived, at last, much better lives than they could have in France. To have a husband, children, a normal life. And they weren't the last to come here for that. Or to be driven out of their own lands, to come here as a refuge. Many of my friends as school have parents who did just that. Perhaps even our friend over there, Thérèse added, ever so slightly indicating the woman in the blue headdress. Mary fleeing with the child Jesus into Egypt, Jesus serving as scapegoat for Herod's sins.

--Station Vendôme.

--Is that why you want to be a teacher? I asked. To train young girls in the

way they should go? How to survive here?

--Oh?

Thérèse seemed surprised at the question, but in the end nodded her head.

--Yes. That's it.

--But...added Thérèse.

--But what?

--That's a long way off. First I have to learn it myself. What could I teach them right now? The Canadian girls have taught me more than I've taught them, so far. I haven't had one-fiftieth the difficulties Ste. Marguerite had, and

I haven't found it easy.

--Prochaine station, Villa-Maria.

--Why not?

--Well, when I got here I had to learn French in record time. Because I wasn't allowed go to an English school, even though I spoke English much better than French. I managed it, but I still speak English better than French. And...

--And?...

--When I told my classmates I wanted to be a nun, they thought I was mad. And this was at a Catholic school!

--Did they reject you?

--Not all...but many.

Clearly I had brought back a bad memory. Thérèse sighed again.

--It's true. I was lonely here for a long time.

Thérèse suddenly smiled, as if to reassure me, and added:

--But I survived, as you can see. Has Sei told you about the winters here?

--A little.

--Well...in Nagasaki it's always warm. I even found Tokyo rather cold, when I lived there. I arrived in Montreal just after Christmas. When I stepped outside the terminal and felt the wind chill and saw the snow on the ground...I thought I had landed in hell. And I had a warm bed waiting for me.

How much harder it must have been for the king's daughters, during their first Canadian winter, living in cabins! But they survived too. You're right.

Compared to France what seemed like hell must have seemed in the end like heaven.

--Station, Villa-Maria.

--A goat's a hardy animal, said Thérèse. It can live a long time in the desert.

---

II

---

VILLA-MARIA

As we pulled into the station the first thing I noticed were the multi-coloured, I should say candy-striped seats made out of some plastic of other, long stripes of red, orange and yellow going up to the ceiling.

The Muslim woman with the baby stroller got out just ahead of us. I walked with Thérèse in silence just behind her until we got to the stairs. The woman stopped at the stairs, as if not sure for a moment how to negotiate them with the stroller.

--Madame? Voulez-vous que je porte la poussette?

The woman looked back at us, noticing us for the first time. She smiled in gratitude.

--Ah! Vraiment? Merci!

The Canadian accent was not as strong as Madeleine's, but it was still unmistakable.

The woman took her child out of the stroller, Thérèse folded it up and we walked up the stairs, across the walkway over the tracks and towards the escalator. Before us I saw coloured circles-purple, red, orange, yellow--in the wall with notches in them, that seemed to be turning counter-clockwise, like a key in a lock.

We eventually made it to the top of the escalator to street level, the entrance plain metal and glass, much of the glass marked with graffiti I couldn't decipher. Over the door to the street, straight ahead, was a sign reading BOULEVARD DECARIE. To the right was another door, leading to a bus stop.

While Thérèse helped the woman with her stroller I looked around. A middle-aged Asian woman sat on a bench by the front door, a surly expression on her face, having a heated argument down her cell phone in a language I didn't understand. Two young black men were standing over to the right, joking around in French. They probably didn't even notice me, much less wish me harm--but still I found myself a bit apprehensive. I couldn't help thinking they could easily snap me in half.

--Say a prayer.

--What? I said, looking around.

--If you're apprehensive, say a prayer, said Thérèse, who was right by my side. That's what I used to do, when I came here first. I was overwhelmed. I'd never seen people like that except in pictures.

She smiled and added:

--But really, there's nothing to fear here.

The Muslim woman walked over to the schedules on the wall right by the door.

Another woman in a black veil, a stout African woman, entered just then. She

smiled as she saw the woman with the stroller.

--Fatima! said the African woman, in perfect French. Ça va bien?

--Oui! replied Fatima, smiling back. Toi?...Ah! Merci! she added, as she saw

Thérèse and I head for the door.

--De rien...bonjour, said Thérèse to Fatima as she pushed the door open.

I followed her through. Before us on the street had been posted a city

map, announcing where we were:

ARRONDISEMENT COTE-DES-NEIGES

NOTRE-DAME-DE-GRACE

--Our Lady of Mercy, said Thérèse. That's the name of this place.

We turned left and started walking up the street; literally next door to the metro station was an iron gate, with a sign announcing what lay behind it:

VILLA-MARIA

COLLEGE PRIVE

PRIVATE SCHOOL

I looked through the gate and thought for a moment that someone had played a trick on me and that I was somehow back in Japan, because it could have been

Lillian Academy; a long path led up to the school, lined with trees--not ginkgos, of course, though perhaps it was too cold for them here--many still bearing their autumn leaves, just as many on the ground, an array of colour that even the drizzle could not prevent from being beautiful.

What was at the end of the path? I wondered. I looked up, but all I saw was a building, presumably the school. Where was Our Lady?

--Our Lady is off to the side, said Thérèse, as if she'd read my mind. I used to pray to her every morning. It is a lot like Lillian, isn't it.

--So everyone had to pray to her as they passed?

--No. I was the only one who did.

--Really?

--I said it was a lot like Lillian. A few things were different, though.

--Did you like it there? It's beautiful, isn't it.

Thérèse had had her teasing smile before, as if she had been making one of her jokes, but it faded just then as she added:

--Lillian was beautiful too.

She shook herself and went on:

--Come on. We're going a bit farther up the street.

So I followed her a bit farther up the street, crossing to the other side.

The neighbourhood around Villa-Maria reminded me of that around Lillian, too, much less fashionable a place than one would expect a place like it to stand.

The side of the house on the end of the row on the right had plenty of graffiti as well. On our side of the street was a building that still showed the faded lettering announcing what it had been long ago, the Institut des Beaux-Arts Villa-Maria.

The unfashionability of it must be what made it hospitable for newcomers.

Certainly they had made it their own. On the ground floor were two restaurants, one a Quartier Perse, the other a Lesvos Ouest. I must have looked at it too long, because Thérèse noticed me looking and glossed, a bit too quickly:

--A Greek restaurant.

--That's what I thought it was.

--Well...not all of Montreal is the Village.

That did strike me as an odd remark.

--Well, of course, I said, not sure how else to respond.

The buildings on the other side of the street had more modestly appointed stores. A laundrette, a print shop, a hairdresser. A convenience store,

Dépanneur Reine Camel. Above the stores were apartments. Probably the owners of the stores lived above them. The humidity from the drizzle made it feel a bit warmer than it was, and a middle-aged woman in a t-shirt was standing on the balcony, smoking a cigarette and staring off into the horizon.

I couldn't help noticing a sign announcing in English and French:

BAR A SUSHI BAR YAKIMONO

--Tell me, have you eaten there?

--Yes, with my friend, once. Can you believe they have kosher sushi?

--Kosher sushi?...

--Many people in Notre-Dame-de-Grace are Jewish. They consider it a sin to eat shellfish. So all the sushi there is salmon, tuna, eel--all bony fish that Jewish people can eat. So there are always many Jewish people there. It's the only sushi restaurant like it I've ever seen.

--Jewish sushi? That's marvellous!

--This is Montreal!

--Your friend, I asked then. She lives on this street?

--No. She doesn't live far away...but she just works here. Don't worry,

we're almost there.

--Is she Jewish?

--No. A Catholic. Her mother is from Poland.

--Perhaps she works there then?

I pointed just up the street to where I could see a storefront announcing

CHARCUTERIE CHOPIN

PATISSERIE EUROPEEN

DELICATESSEN

Chopin was Polish...it was a romantic idea, but I thought surely that was where Thérèse's friend worked? The daughter of hard-working immigrants, tending the family store to help keep the family fed?

--Not quite, said Thérèse, her teasing look returned. Next door.

I looked next door.

SCIFI ANIME

In the windows were advertised

ANIME DVD

MANGA

LOCATION & VENTE

--An animation store? I said.

--What? Disappointed? teased Thérèse.

--Just surprised...but I suppose I shouldn't be. She did give you the

books, didn't she? I'll wait for you here.

--In the rain? You don't want to meet her? Or are you afraid of manga?

--No, but...is it all right?

--Of course. She's very nice. She'll like you, said Thérèse, slipping between two cars parked on the street and starting to cross. Coming?

I quickly followed her across, checking a bit nervously for traffic.

---

te to te o tsunai dara

mukau toko muteki desho

--Hello? said Thérèse in English as we entered. Heloise, are you there?

--Hey! Thérèse! was the response. A cheerful greeting, from a woman I didn't see immediately. She pronounced it "Teriisu."

Thérèse entered, and I followed her in. The first thing I noticed were display cases by the door, full of models of giant robots. Just behind the desk were boxes of paints and cement, imported from Japan.

A tomboyish young woman about our age and my height--whom I presumed was

Heloise--was behind the counter, looking towards us--or Thérèse, at any rate-

-and waving as we came in. As I came closer I saw her T–shirt bore a picture of a cute cartoon girl with green hair, holding a leek.

Heloise was rail-thin, and I'd be lying if I called her stunningly beautiful; even from the door I noticed skin blemishes. I had to wonder too why she seemed to have dyed her page-boy bob an interesting shade of orange. Perhaps to look more like an animation character.

Her obvious friendliness made up for it, though; her smile was amazingly childlike, and couldn't help but cheer me too. I couldn't help thinking of

Sei. If I had only seen Sei in a photo, I wouldn't have called her beautiful either. Her looks were honestly a bit mannish, even before she had cut her hair. But I knew the photo would have lied.

I hung back a bit as Thérèse went to the desk, to return Heloise's books.

--How are you? Thérèse asked Heloise politely.

--Great! You?

--Fine...here are your books.

--Dude, you could have kept them 'til you were done. Didn't you like them?

--I finished them. I read them from cover to cover.

--Really? Wow...you like?

--They were interesting. I'm glad I read them. Thank you...

--Yay! I made Thérèse read yuri! Woohoo!

While Heloise celebrated her "victory," I wandered around the store. One wall

was covered entirely with rental DVDs of animation. I even recognized a few: Gundam, Evangelion, Bleach, Inuyasha. Far more I had never heard of: Gekiganger III, Schoolgirl Milky Crisis, Testcard Warriors. On the back wall and on the right were more models; in the centre of the room were shelves of manga that had been translated into English. Nothing in French.

I found myself looking up and down for Rose of Versailles, but didn't see it. I turned back to Heloise and Thérèse, who were talking about everything and nothing--or rather it was Heloise who talked excitedly and breathlessly about everything and nothing, while Thérèse smiled back, adding a comment when she could.

--Excusez-moi...s'il vous plait...ano...est-ce que...

--Oh, said Heloise, seeming to notice me for the first time. Can I help you?

--Do you have Rose of Versailles?

--Rose of Versailles?...No. I don't think you can get it in English.

--I...don't see...is there manga? In French?

--No, we don't sell it here. It's all English...say, Thérèse, said Heloise to Thérèse, aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?

--Oh! I'm sorry!...Come here, Shimako. Heloise, this is Shimako Todo.

I approached, and bowed politely.

--Enchanté, I said.

Heloise smiled, still friendly though not quite as energetically, and offered her hand to be shaken.

--I'm Erika.

But hadn't Thérèse called her Heloise?...No matter. I gingerly took her hand.

--It's okay, I don't bite, said Erika. Much. And you can speak to me in

English too. Honest.

--It's okay? I said.

--Well, that's the language I think in, so...yeah. How do you know

Thérèse?

--We went to the same school, in Japan...I started.

--We have a mutual friend who goes to McGill, said Thérèse, much more fluently than I could have. We met by chance in the Old City.

--Whoa. Small world...said Erika. Shimako, right? How do you write that?

She found a pen and a scrap of paper and passed them to me. I wrote down my name in Chinese characters and explained what they meant.

--So, said Erika when I'd finished, what are you doing in Montreal?

--Japanese...universities...are not very good. I want to go to university in Canada.

--So, McGill, maybe?

--Maybe...I was staying with my friend...

--Cool. You like Montreal?

--Yes. Very much.

--Cool, said Erika, less enthusiastically. Her smile faded for a moment.

Come on, though--it's no Tokyo.

--You have been to Tokyo? I asked.

--No. I want to visit though. Oh, I wanna go to Japan! added Erika, bouncing up and down a bit, like a child impatient for some sort of treat.

--Yes...please visit, I said, not sure how to respond. It's nice...

--Oh I know, Erika replied. My brother went when he was at McGill.

--Did he like it?

--Uh, yeah. He liked it all right. He didn't want to come home. Had to take a semester off school when he came back and see a therapist. Reverse culture shock, they said. He still wants to go back now...

--I...see...I replied, a little stunned to hear that.

--So, are you from Nagasaki, like Thérèse?

--No...our school is in Musashino, in Tokyo. I live near there...

--Oh. Okay. What's cool to see around there? I wanna visit.

--What? Well...

--Why don't you tell her about your family's temple? offered Thérèse.

--WHAT?

Erika looked at Thérèse, as if in disbelief, then back at me, overjoyed, her eyes almost seeming to sparkle with delight. I found myself noticing Erika had very nice eyes, a pretty shade of blue.

--Your family owns a temple? Can I touch you?

Saying that Erika reached out, making as if to do just that. I froze, looking up at Thérèse for help. Erika must have noticed my shock, because she dropped her hand, and laughed.

--Just kidding!

Thérèse laughed politely, but I couldn't help noticing a cloud come over her expression for just a second.

--So what's it called? Erika asked. I wanna visit it now.

--Shoguji, I said, writing the Chinese characters out for her, without waiting to be asked. My father is the priest there...would you like to visit? It's a small temple. It's not very famous...

--Heck, I don't care, Erika replied, shrugging. It's your temple. It's Thérèse's friend's temple. Yeah, I wanna visit. I'll bring Thérèse with me, she said, smiling up at Thérèse.

--I don't think...started Thérèse, grinning a bit nervously.

--Sure you do. I need someone to come with me and do the talking.

She giggled, and Thérèse giggled too, still a bit nervously. I realized it must be a standing joke between them.

--Do you...go to Marianopolis too? I asked Erika, taking pity on Thérèse.

--Yeah...we have a lot of the same classes. Not today, though.

--She goes in the morning, and I go in the afternoon, Thérèse added.

--Then you met there...?

--Nah, said Erika. We met at Villa-Maria, when she transferred in. A lot of

girls from Villa-Maria go to Marianopolis. God, it's like high school...

--Do you want to go to McGill?

--Nah. UQO.

--What?

--Université du Québec en Outaouais, said Thérèse.

--Yeah, said Erika. It's in Gatineau. My dad lives in Aylmer. He has an

IT job in Ottawa. Systems support, or something. He doesn't talk about it much. That's where I get my nerdiness, I think...anyway, yeah--UQO lets you major in cartooning. What I really wanna do is be a manga artist.

--A manga artist? I asked. Can you do that?

--I know. Crazy, huh? Dad's like, cool, okay, you can get a job maybe at an animation studio. I guess they have some in Ottawa. I can do that, maybe... But he's cool. He says I can live with him while I'm in UQO. Whatever makes you happy, he says. I love my daddy...

Erika giggled again, adding, as if to apologize:

--I'm sorry. Always been a daddy's girl...

--No...it's all right. I like my father very much too...

--Oh yeah?

She giggled, and I found myself giggling too. I could see why Thérèse liked her. It was hard not to--amazingly friendly and cheerful, even with strangers.

A bit bubbly, to be sure, but that was all right--Yumi was no worse, really.

--He got me the shirt, which is funny, Erika went on, indicating the shirt she was wearing. He found it on the Internet. He was the one who told me about the OS-tans. And he doesn't even like anime that much. Cute shirt, huh?

--So you can get a job doing animation, in Ottawa?

--Maybe.

Erika's smile faded at the thought.

--You don't want that?

--Uh, no. I love my dad, but seriously, Ottawa? Do you have any idea what a boring city that is? I don't want to stay in Canada at all. I want to work for a studio in Japan.

--You speak Japanese? I asked.

--No. I'm learning though, said Erika, looking up at Thérèse endearingly. Thérèse is helping me. Right?

--I wonder if I am...I'm not a very good teacher yet, said Thérèse.

--But, I had to ask, you don't like Ottawa. Do you not like Montreal?

--No. Montreal's okay. I just don't wanna live with my mom anymore. God...I tell her what I want to do and she's like...

Erika went on in what I gathered was a thick foreign accent, a parody,

presumably, of her mother's:

--"You can't survive, drawing cartoons! You need to find a job doing something useful. And you need to find a husband." God. Mom, this is the 21st century, and this is Canada, okay? She's from Poland. More Catholic than the pope. My dad's a Canadian, so he's actually sort of normal. So...yeah. Match made in hell. But she didn't want a divorce, so when he got a job in Ottawa me and Mom just stayed behind. More Catholic than the pope...seriously. True story. When the Pope died, she went to the memorial mass, and when they showed the funeral on TV from Rome she was doing the sign of the cross in the living room along with the priest, and genuflecting and...

Thérèse's smile faded; she broke in with:

--Heloise, you said you'd done some new drawings?

Erika must have gotten the message, because she answered:

--Um...yeah. I did. Okay, ignore me. Me and my mom just don't get along... Thérèse wants to be a nun, but she's actually nice...not like the nuns at school. Even if she's way too quiet. Thérèse, you need to talk more.

--Do I? asked Thérèse.

Thérèse had had no trouble talking to me; but around Erika it was true

she had been much quieter. It was different with Erika, perhaps.

--Yeah, you do, said Erika.

--I was listening.

--You need to talk, too. You're too serious. Shimako! Are all Japanese people so serious?

--Are they very serious? I replied, not sure how to answer. I wonder...

--Canadians aren't serious at all, said Thérèse.

--No, we're not. That's why you like me.

--Really?

They were looking at each other now, giggling. Another standing joke.

--May I see the drawings? I asked.

--Sure, said Erika, reaching down behind the desk and pulling out a large

binder. You can come behind the counter, if you wanna see better.

I did not refuse. I stood to one side of Erika, and Thérèse to the other, as

Erika leafed through her portfolio, telling us a little about each drawing and painting. Very willowy art, reminiscent of many girls' manga I had read.

She had probably learned to draw by copying them. Prominent in many of the drawings she showed us was a character, slender and beautiful with short orange hair, often in the arms of a handsome man.

--The girl with orange hair...is that you? I asked.

--Uh, that's a boy, said Erika.

--Oh...sorry, I said, giggling with embarrassment.

--'Sokay, I get that a lot. I don't really have orange hair, ya know. But it's his natural colour. He's orange everywhere.

Erika smirked, and had to cover my mouth not to let my embarrassment show to much. She really did remind of Sei just then. Behind her I saw Thérèse blush, try not to laugh, and furtively make the sign of the cross.

--Did Thérèse make the sign of the cross just now? asked Erika.

--Yes, I said. How did you know that?

--She always does when I say something like that.

She turned the page. A young woman with long flowing black hair, dressed as a shrine maiden, stood before a path leading towards a torii, holding a broom to sweep away the falling autumn leaves.

--This one's pretty new. I like how the colours turned out. Even if it is really the path up to the school. I just took out the school and added the torii...say, do you wear something like that?

--No...I said. That dress is Shinto. My temple is Buddhist. When I work at festivals...I wear kimono.

--Huh. Okay.

Erika seemed to look me up and down just then, before adding:

--I bet you look cute in a kimono. I wanna see that now...

Thérèse kept quiet. She had clearly seen most of the drawings before; she was smiling and nodding a little indulgently, the way Noriko would do for her sister when she brought a drawing or a painting home from school, less pleased at the artwork itself as the fact that the one she loved was so proud of it, happy to see her happy. Thérèse was standing very close to Erika. Erika did not seem to mind that at all; but Thérèse's shoulder came only to a hair's breadth from Erika's, her hand at most a hair's breadth from Erika's, never once touching...perhaps longing, but not daring to touch her.

Another of Erika's latest drawings, was of two magical girls, one in a yellow uniform, one in red, the one in yellow in the arms of the one in red, both looking deeply into each other's eyes. They both wore headdresses that looked like nothing so much as TV antennae.

--That's Naoko and Reiko from Testcard Warriors, said Erika by way of commentary. They're so delightfully yuri. I've been drawing a lot more girls lately. Go figure...must be the yuri manga I've been reading...you know what?

I should sign up for artist's alley at Otakuthon next year.

--Otakuthon? I asked.

--It's an anime convention. At Concordia. See if I can't get some fan art commissions...oh!

Erika looked at Thérèse with a knowing smirk, and added:

--Thérèse! You know you want to cosplay Esther!

--What? said Thérèse, laughing. No!

--Esther? I asked.

Erika flipped forward to another of her recent drawings, a beautiful,

pale man in a dark cloak and a beautiful young woman with huge,

pleading eyes, dressed in a white, Italian-style habit.

--From Trinity Blood. The guy is Father Abel and the girl is Sister Esther.

It'd be perfect.

--I couldn't do that! laughed Thérèse.

--You know you want to. You make your own clothes, right? You could make it

no problem.

--No!

--What? Too sacrilegious? You're a nun! You need to dress like one, right?

--I'd look stupid!

--So? I'll go as Abel if you like.

--NO!

They both were laughing now. Another standing joke. Thérèse was blushing, clearly enjoying the teasing. I found myself laughing too.

--I love making her squirm, said Erika as if divulging a confidence to me. It's so much fun.

--Really? I said.

--And she's so cute when she blushes.

--Stop it! said Thérèse, trying to contain herself now, but not quite

succeeding.

--Seriously though, said Erika (finally having mercy on Thérèse), it's fun. If you go to McGill you should come, Shimako. To Otakuthon.

--Is it? Do Canadians like manga that much?

--Sure they do. And you're Japanese. You and Thérèse'll be, like, the only Japanese people there. Folks'll love you...it'll be an experience...you should bring your friend too...what's your friend's name?

--Sei, I said. Sei Sato.

At the sound of Sei's name, Thérèse suddenly sobered up, and said:

--That's right. Weren't you supposed to meet Sei for lunch?

--Yes, I said. Yes, I was.

--I'm sorry, Heloise, said Thérèse, I have to go. I have to get to class.

--Already? said Erika.

--Anyway...Shimako doesn't know this part of town well. I took her well out of her way. I was going to take her back to the metro, so she doesn't get lost.

--But it's like, right there...

--I know...but she doesn't know the metro that well, so...

--Huh. Okay, said Erika, looking rather dejected.

--Heloise?

--Yes?

--I just had a thought. You will have to wear the dress, but I can make it

for you.

--...Seriously? You mean it?

--When I make a promise, I keep it. Give me pictures and I'll find fabric.

--I love you!

Erika grinned and giggled, and Thérèse laughed too, then they were both quiet

a moment, looking in each other's eyes. When I made my way out from behind

the counter, they seemed barely to notice. I pretended to take great interest

in a magazine with a picture of a pretty high school girl wearing yellow

ribbons on the front cover.

--You would make a prettier Esther anyway, I heard Thérèse say.

--Oh, you think so? said Erika, sounding flattered. Do tell...!

--Esther...she's English. Not Japanese. I really would look silly. You look much more like her.

--Hmm...yeah, okay. I'll give you my measurements. Remind me.

--I have to go.

--Not yet. Come here.

--But...is it all right?

--No buts. Come here.

--All right...

--Mmm...

I looked at them out of the corner of my eye. They were embracing very tightly, Thérèse's back to me, Erika's face buried in Thérèse's shoulder, her hands moving ever so slowly up and down Thérèse's back.

It was at that moment I realized who the shrine maiden was. Thérèse with longer hair.

I looked back in the magazine, pretending I had seen nothing.

--Shimako?

I looked up. They had let go. Erika was looking at me now.

--You want French manga, right?

--Oh. Yes, please, I said (though to be honest I'd forgotten about it).

--Go to Marché du Livre. That's where I get mine. Hold on, I'll make

you a map.

Thérèse came out from behind the counter, and we waited while Erika drew the

map. As she handed it to me she said:

--Go to Berri-UQAM and head for the bus station--Station Centrale. It's

right next door on our left, on Maisonneuve. You can't miss it.

--Thank you, I said.

--No problem...if you go to McGill I'll see you again, maybe?

--I'd like that, I replied.

--Shall we go? said Thérèse to me, in Japanese.

--All right...nice meeting you, Erika, I said, bowing before heading behind

Thérèse towards the door.

--Bye...later, Thérèse.

Erika waved as we went, smiling again, now a little sadly.

---

As we stepped outside of the store and started walking back towards the station, the smile Thérèse kept for Erika faded; replacing it was

apprehension, a shade of guilt. She must have noticed me looking at her, because she turned to me and asked, as if trying to distract me:

--Do you want something to drink?

--I'm fine, I said. I'll wait until lunch.

--Not even water? It's all right. I'm thirsty too.

--There's no need.

--I insist.

So Thérèse stepped into Dépanneur Reine Camel, coming out with two bottles of cheap bottled water. We didn't go directly to the station, but rather walked onto the bridge over the freeway a little way, and we stood there a few minutes, Thérèse looking out onto the freeway, watching the cars roll by through the drizzle.

--So why do you call her Heloise? I asked.

--That's her name.

--But isn't it Erika?

--No. It's a Japanese name as well as an English one. She wanted a Japanese name, so she gave herself one. She hates the name Heloise. Even her brother calls her Erika now.

--She doesn't mind?

--Not really. I told her I liked it, and I meant it. I even told her about

Abelard and Heloise.

--The priest and nun who fell in love?

--Yes. She didn't even know that. She said her mother just liked the sound of it. There's only three people she lets call her Heloise. One's her mother.

The second's her father. The third is me.

Thérèse turned to me, smiling again, but a little sheepishly, adding:

--She teases me about that too.

--She's right. You are very quiet around her, I replied.

--Am I? Thérèse asked. I suppose I am. You saw though--it's hard to keep up with her. For a long time I didn't have much choice but to let her do the talking. I learned to speak English from her, did I mention that?

--No, you didn't.

--Yes. That's why I'm trying to teach her Japanese. I owe her a lot, you know.

Thérèse turned back to the traffic, sipped her water, and went on:

--Even if I'd been a Canadian, the other girls would have thought me odd.

None of them thought for a minute about being a nun. And I didn't speak

English, not really. It's no wonder they had no patience with me. Then there

was Heloise, who wanted to be friends and wouldn't take no for an answer!

She laughed at the memory, and continued:

--She's always enthusiastic like that. It's exhausting sometimes. So much so that I'll spend an hour with her, and after I'll be sure that I've had enough of her for at least a month! But it passes. I can't stay angry with her for long. We get on well. She's a fun person.

Her smile faded just then, though, as she added:

--That's the odd part about it. I always enjoyed being with her. But she didn't make friends easily with anybody else. She wasn't that close to any of the other girls. And boys she barely seemed to see the use for. I sometimes wondered if I was her only friend...

Her voice trailed off. She took another sip of water.

--You think about her quite a lot, don't you? I asked.

--Do I?...Yes, I suppose I do.

--Does she know about Sei and Shiori?

Thérèse looked back at me, surprised, not to say shocked at the question.

--Why should she know about that?

--Thérèse...It's obvious to anyone. Heloise adores you. I thought perhaps that's why she gave you the books. To tell you it was all right...

--It's not all right!

I found myself jumping back at the sound of Thérèse shouting at the top of her lungs. Thérèse herself must have been shocked, because she caught herself, hung her head, and said:

--I'm sorry...

--Don't be.

--Long ago I was promised to the Lord, all of me. When I forget that I've

regretted it. Of course I know. She wants something from me I can't give her.

--Why not? Don't you like her?

--Of course I do.

--Then...

--Her innocence. That's what I came to love about her.

Thérèse looked back up at me, an imploring look in her eyes.

--Shimako--if I led her astray...it wouldn't be the first time. Please... don't ask me to do that again. I don't care to make any more promises I can't keep. Our Lady of Mercy...she gave me a second chance, in Canada, as if I'd deserved anything of the kind. Heloise--I give her what I can. Companionship.

A friendly ear. Now and again I'll make her a dress--a costume. She appreciates that. Beyond that--I pray for her.

--Pray?

--Yes. Every day. That she'll find someone who can give himself--all of

himself--to her. And forget me once and for all.

Thérèse finished her water, and as if to declared the subject closed, said:

--Do the sisters know? I asked.

--What? About Sei and Shiori?

--Yes.

--They might know. Mother Superior wrote my recommendation. They might have found it odd that someone would come all this way to their school for no reason. I'd be surprised if they didn't ask.

--I mean...are they sure you belong in the Congrégation?

Thérèse looked back at me and raised her right hand, pointing to her fingers with her left index.

--Shimako. Do you know how many women took vows--what, this year? I could count them on the fingers of one hand. Literally. And that's not just the Congrégation de Notre Dame, that's all the orders in Quebec. I'm needed, more than ever. That's not all. After hearing Yes for so long--how can it be that Our Lady would want to hear No?

--You don't have to say no to her. You want to teach children? To spread the word of God? You don't have to be a sister to do that!

--Why don't you understand? I can't just say no to my family, or to Mother Superior, after all they've done for me! My family would turn out on the

street, probably, and I'd deserve every bit of it. No home, no job, not even

a way back to Japan. Then what? What good would that do anyone?

I found myself answering:

--Thérèse...what sort of horrible people are they that they would do that? Sacrificing a little girl to Our Lady for services rendered? Sending her halfway across the world to punish her for falling in love? And they call themselves Christians? They had no right! And no need! When Christ died for us did he send us a bill? Thérèse...listen. You have a real family waiting for you. People who love you, really love you, miss you. Waiting for you to come to them. The second chance Our Lady gave you...did you never think it might be Heloise?

--So...what? Shall I squat at Heloise's father's place in Ottawa, perhaps? Don't make me laugh!

--Not just her, I said. Sei's here too.

--What?

I grabbed her wrist, and tried to pull her with me towards Villa-Maria

station, but after the shock wore off she pulled her arm back.

--Come with me, I said. I'll take you to her.

--What? NO! Are you mad?

Thérèse was clearly now truly angry. She shook her arm up and down trying force me to let her go free, but I resisted as best I could, trying to get her to submit, not quite knowing what I was saying:

--I'm not mad. She'll help you, of course she will. She lives on rue Panet. In the Village. She has friends there. They'll help you. They look after her too. I'll be coming here, I'll help you if I can. She'll help you too.

--You don't know what you're talking about! Let me go!

--Sei doesn't hate you. I know she doesn't. I've never known her to hate anyone. She never said one bad thing about you, not one. She forgave you long ago. Come with me and let her see you again. She'll be so happy...

--Get behind me, Satan!

The words seemed to work like the spell they were. Thérèse forced her arm free so suddenly she was falling backwards, off the sidewalk onto the pavement.

The next sound I heard was screeching tires and a blaring horn.

TSUZUKU


	6. Chapter 6

Free at last, free at last. Thank God almighty Sei is free at last.

For this you may thank Randy L., Amelia C., and Ioana T. My story took far too long to tell; without them, it would never have been completed at all.

Comments welcome.

(There has been a very slight modification to chapter 5, for consistency's sake.)

Paul Corrigan

studiopoutineyahoo.ca

---

By divine providence The car stopped, a hair's breadth from where Thérèse had fallen in the road. I stood there, transfixed in horror, my hands moving to my mouth.

The first thing I heard was a car door, opening and slamming, and a man's voice shouting:

--Câlisse!

---

Les filles du lys de la montagne, chapter six

---

A Maria-sama ga miteru ("Marimite") fanfic by Paul Corrigan

---

Marimite concept devised by Oyuki Konno

---

I was still too much in shock to move, and I stood there, as a Canadian man in his forties, wearing jeans and a Montreal Canadiens jacket, stormed up to me, not even looking at where Thérèse lay in the road, and began screaming at me:

--Hé, connasse, que c'est que tu sacres, toé? Tu veux-tu tuer quelqu'un ou quoi? Tu viens de jeter quelqu'un dans'l'rue comme ça, t'es-tu malade? Calvaire!

--Monsieur...pardon...ano...I started.

--Farme-la, câlisse! C'est moé qui parle!

--Ne lui parlez pas comme ça, cher monsieur!

--Hein?

The man turned to where Thérèse lay in the road, as if noticing her for the first time.

--Monsieur! Laisse-la tranquille, monsieur! Ils sont sacrés, ces-mots-là! Ne lui dites pas ces mots comme ça!

--Quoi? Que c'est que tu racontes, toé?

--L'hostie, c'est le corps du Christ! C'est un mot sacré, monsieur!

--Ah, sacrament, une maudite catho...! Sacré...! Ha ha ha!

The man laughed, without mirth. Thérèse had sat up a bit and was looking at us, looking angrier at the man than at me.

--Ce malade-là t'a sacrée en avant de mon char! Pis tu veux me parler de la religion?

The passenger door opened.

--Chéri! Arrête! said a woman's voice. Qu'est-ce que tu as?

It was a black woman in her early thirties, quite pretty, in a sweater and jeans. The man turned towards her.

--Que c'est que j'ai, moé? J'ai failli avoir une crise cardiaque, c'est ça ce que j'ai!

--La fille saigne dans la rue et tu veux terroriser son amie? A quoi ça sert? Tu vois pas qu'elle te comprend pas?

The woman knelt down beside Thérèse.

--Ça va, mademoiselle?

--Oui.

--Tiens-moi la main que je te mets debout.

Thérèse took it, and the woman helped her up. As far as I could tell, no, I wasn't hurt. Through divine providence I had gotten away with just a fright.

--Tu es sûre que ça va? Tu n'es pas blessée?

--Non. Excusez mon amie, c'était un accident.

Apparently satisfied Thérèse wasn't injured, the man backed away from me, scowling. The woman dusted Thérèse off a bit, then looked at me, frowning.

--Toi, tu parles français?

--Non.

--Do you speak English?

--Yes...a bit, I said.

--You nearly gave my husband a heart attack. What on earth did you think you were doing? Your friend could have been killed!

--I am very sorry, I said, bowing very low.

Thérèse joined me back on the sidewalk, and stood by my side.

--It was an accident, said Thérèse, in English. Don't be angry with her, please. It was my fault.

The woman looked at us both, and the anger faded from her face.

--All right. Be more careful in future. Take care now.

The woman got back in the car, her husband following her, adding the coda to the episode, almost spitting:

--Sacrament!

He got in to the car, re-started it, and quickly drove away.

--Thérèse, I said at last, when the car was out of sight, bowing low again, I'm so sorry...

--Why are you apologizing?

I looked up. Thérèse was looking at me over, ashamed, as if she had pushed me into the road rather than the other way around. She offered me her hand.

--I'd better take you back, said Thérèse. I imagine Sei is waiting for you.

Behind her head I could clearly see the green dome of the Oratoire Saint-Joseph.

---

--Neuf cents quarante huit, neuf cents quarante huit, communiquez.

We took the escalator back down into Villa-Maria station in silence, walking past the coloured circles, turning back like a key does in a lock, as if locking a door behind us. Behind her.

We had just missed the last train towards Henri-Bourassa, so we sat on the platform in silence for a few minutes, Thérèse not looking at me. Not angry, but ashamed, not daring to look.

--Are you sure you're not angry with me?

--Why?

--Thérèse...

--How is Sei?

I wanted to say she was well, but I couldn't lie to Thérèse.

--Lonely.

--I was afraid you'd say that, she replied.

--I don't think she has any friends here. I mean...she was never the sort to make friends with just anyone, but...she ran away from everyone. Why, I don't know. She had no reason to, but...she must be afraid she'd hurt someone else. She never forgave herself for what she thought she did to you. Please...won't you come with me to see her? So she knows you're all right...

--She knows I'm here.

--...What?

--She came to Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours one day, when I happened to be there.

--Did you say anything to her?

--I told her she'd mistaken me for someone else.

The car arrived. Thérèse stood up; it took me a moment to rise in my turn and join her in the car. The seat beside her was free, so I sat beside her; she continued to stare straight ahead, not looking at me.

--Prochaine station, Vendôme.

--...But why? I asked at last. How could you...?

--Shimako...You still don't understand why I was sent here, do you?

--...to make sure you never saw her again? I guessed.

--Did she tell you much about me?

--No. She never spoke of you to me. I only heard, from others.

--She might have told you this. We were going to run away together. Did anyone tell you that?

--What? No, never.

--It was her idea. Let's go away somewhere, she said. Somewhere far away. Far from Lillian Academy. Far from everyone. In a place where we can live just as we like, together.

--Station Vendôme.

--Where?

--I don't know. I don't know if Sei even knew. Perhaps...

--Perhaps what?

--Perhaps, mused Thérèse, it was this place.

--Prochaine station, Place-Saint-Henri.

--What do you mean?

--We could have lived together, here, and nobody would have cared. Did Sei tell you that?

--Yes. Yes she did, I replied.

--But it was a mad idea, said Thérèse. Sheer madness. God knows what would have become of us, wherever we ended up. We would have wound up like the people our age begging on rue Sainte-Catherine, or dead of the cold. After a few months away from Japan--I thought I had put that behind me. That I could laugh at the insanity of it. But then one day she came to Bon-Secours.

Thérèse laughed mirthlessly and went on:

--If you would damn someone, give him what his corrupt heart thinks it desires. Shimako...that night I was tempted to kill myself.

--What?

--I was a good swimmer at school. She might have told you that. I came back to the Old City, to the Saint-Laurence river, right by Bon-Secours--and I stood on the banks for hours, trying to find the courage to dive in and swim out into the river, and drown.

--Station Place-Saint-Henri.

Therese looked at me, smiling again, and added:

--But as you can see...I didn't do anything of the kind. Shall I tell you what I did do?

--What did you do?

--I went to Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours, the next morning, and prayed for the soul of Sei Sato. That's what I've done every day since.

--Thérèse...

--Now you're here. Perhaps my prayers have been answered.

--Prochaine station, Lionel-Groulx.

--What do you mean?

--You love her very much, don't you?

--Yes. Yes, I do.

--Shimako...if you had let me go one moment later...I would have been in your debt. As it is, do me one kindness instead.

--Yes?

--...If you come here as well...look after her for me, won't you?

--Station Lionel-Groulx.

The doors opened, and Thérèse got up and headed for the door. I stood up.

--Shiori...! I cried.

--My name is Thérèse!

She stopped short, realized she'd raised her voice again, and bowed her head to me.

--I'm glad I met you, Shimako. Please...don't follow me.

And with that she stepped out of the car, the doors closed, and the train pulled away from the station.

Before that day I had never wittingly met Shiori Kubo. I would never meet her again.

---

--Shit.

The metro cars going east and west happened to arrive at the same time. I'd expected Sei to arrive about then, but I was surprised myself to see the west-bound car pull away to reveal her standing on the platform.

We walked up the stairs and met on the platform overlooking the tracks.

--Where did you go? I thought you were going to the Old City, Sei asked.

--I did, I replied.

--So...what? You go to the Oratoire? You didn't have to go there all by yourself. I'd have taken you. All you had to do was ask.

--I didn't go there. I went to Notre-Dame-de-Grace.

--What? To NDG? Why? What's there you wanted to...?

--Sei, I met Shiori Kubo.

Sei stopped short. Her jaw dropped, the blood drained from her face; I'm sure she started to shake.

--...What?

--At Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours, by chance. She took me to Notre-Dame-de-Grace.

--Oh God...

--Shiori's here. She told me she was sent here to make sure you never saw each other again. Somehow you found out where she was and dropped everything to run to her. But she wouldn't start again. Tell me the truth. That's why you're here, isn't it?

Sei covered her face with her hands, begging me:

--Shimako...please don't...it's not like that...

--That's why you're so unhappy. Sei, do you think I couldn't tell how miserable you were?

--Shimako...when I came...I didn't know she was here. Honestly, I didn't...

--But you found out, didn't you? That's why you didn't want to take me here...

--I didn't know it was her.

--What are you talking about?

--Oh, I was pretty sure it was her, said Sei. But I so hoped it wasn't her...

--What? What do you mean?

Sei turned away from me, and held on to the railing overlooking the tracks tightly, taking a deep breath, looking straight over the tracks.

--It was weird. I told Mom and Dad I was sick of Lillian and I wanted to study abroad, it was Mom who was glad to hear it, not Dad. Dad didn't want me to go. He had the money, but he said he'd miss me too much if I went.

She smiled at the thought of her father, and went on:

--He's a sweetheart, that way. Mom said, "Let her go. She needs a fresh start." Dad's like, "From what?" And she's like, "You know what! She'll never find a husband here!" Dad's like, "What's that got to do with it? I married you, didn't I? Why won't she get married?"

--What did he mean? I asked.

--I don't know. I knew better than to ask. So they had one of their huge fights and Mom wound up slamming the door to her room and bawling in there. Psycho...anyway, when she was gone Dad just sat there a while quietly--he does that--and finally he said, "Maybe she's right, Sei. I needed a fresh start too." He came to Tokyo from some shit-hole village in Hokkaido. Never had a dad himself. Self-made man, he said, because nobody was going to make him. So...in the end he let me go.

She let out a deep sigh.

--And then, that June 24...after the parade I had some time to kill, so I went down to Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours, just out of curiosity. If there was no mass at the Basilique there wouldn't be there. So I go in, and a guy dressed like a voyageur says, "Bonjour, pélèrin." Thought I was a guy. And in the back row on her knees, was a girl about my age, praying, and I heard her say, in Japanese, "Lord have mercy on me, a sinner." She makes the sign of the cross, and stands up, turns around to go, and--oh God--she'd cut her hair, she was a bit taller and she wasn't in her uniform--I hardly ever saw her out of it--but it was HER--I'd know her anywhere. I knew that face as well as my own. And I cried out her name and I THREW myself at her, I held her tight and started kissing her everywhere, and she must have gotten a fright, because she yelled and said to let her go. Next thing I know monsieur le voyageur's pulling us apart, and he's like, "What's going on here?" He must have thought I was going to attack her right inside the church. And then she looks at me, and you could see it click in her eyes just who it was. And she looks at him then and says, "It's fine, she thought I was someone else." I thought she was someone else. And he looks at her--and then he looks at me, and now the moron realises I'm a girl. And he lets me go, and says, "Get the hell out of here!" And she's like "Monsieur! S'il vous plait!" and he realises what he said, and makes the sign of the cross...

Sei laughed a little bitterly, in spite of herself, and went on.

--...which would have been funny, normally, but he's still staring at me, so I take the hint and I scram. And I try to tell myself, she's right. I must have had the wrong person. She couldn't be...but I knew I hadn't. And do you know what? I wound up here at Champ-de-Mars, for ages, standing right over the tracks, trying to gather the courage to throw myself off.

I could feel my eyes go wide with shock.

--...What?

--Dammit, Shimako, I didn't do it, did I? I just stood here like a moron until someone calls security and the security guy gets me to move along.

I heard a newspaper ruffle behind us. I looked to see. The ticket-collector who had been on duty when I first arrived was still there, staring at us.

--Might even have been him on duty that day, I don't remember. He's watching us. Oh, he knew what I was planning to do. People do it all the time.

--What did you do? I asked.

--What do you think I did? Sei snapped. I went to Saint-Denis and got roaring drunk.

She stopped, realized she'd yelled at me, took a deep breath and went on in a normal tone:

--I stagger home and I wind up calling Yoko, of all people. I still had her number. Called her at cockcrow in Japan. Some guy picks up. Her latest boyfriend, I reckon. I ask for Yoko. He gives her the phone and she says, "Sei, this had better be good," and I'm like, "Why didn't you fucking tell me Shiori was here?" She said she didn't know. Shimako, nothing happened at Lillian that Yoko didn't know about, you remember that, right? So I'm like, bullshit! And then she says if she'd told me it wouldn't have stopped me, I'd have been on out on the next flight here. And then...then she's like...

Sei added, in a pompous voice, imitating Yoko Mizuno I presumed:

--"I'm glad to hear you got what you thought you wanted. Disappointed?" I was thinking, what's that supposed to mean? Then she's like, "Glad to hear that too." And she hung up...Shimako. You need to hear the truth.

--About what?

--About you and me.

--I don't...

--Somehow she heard about us two looking at each other, your first day of school, under that tree. So the great Rosa Chinensis decreed that Shimako Todo would make a great soeur for poor broken-hearted Sei Sato. And told me so. I'm like, what the fuck? So sorry about Shiori, I'll get you another cute virgin just like it? Bitch! I didn't want a replacement for Shiori...I said. But then...but then of course I asked you to be my soeur anyway. Some fresh fucking start, huh?

--That's why Yoko drove me up the wall so much. Because she knew everything, and she was always right about everything and she was always right about me. Every time.

--Sei...

--So, there you go, Shimako. Yoko picked you out for me. As a replacement for Shiori. Some soeur I was. All I was doing was using you.

--Sei...I started. I liked you from the moment I saw you. Yoko had nothing to do with it...

--Shimako, are you really going to be satisfied with being a consolation prize for some girl who's still jonesing over someone else? Because you deserve better than that. Way better than that...okay?

Sei let out a deep sigh, and hung her head.

--So, yeah. Now you know why I don't go to the Old City any more. Shimako.

--Yes, Sei?

--Listen. You can stay at my place until Sunday. Madeleine likes you, she won't mind. Tell her I had to go to Ottawa suddenly, immigration bullshit. I have friends there, I'll stay with them. And then Shimako, when you leave Montreal, I want you to stay gone.

--Sei...please don't...

--Shimako!

Sei was bent over the railing, gripping it for dear life. It looked for all the world like she was gathering the courage to climb over and jump.

--Shimako, please...This time I fucking mean it. Go home. This town doesn't have anything you want and neither do I. I'm not the best thing since sliced bread. I'm not Lady Oscar. I'm not even Rosa Gigantea, any more. I'm just a fuck-up who fucked up some other poor girl's life and I don't care to fuck up anyone else's. Okay, Shimako? You should be home, in Japan, with your family and the people who love you. Go to a nice college at home, find a nice boy to marry who loves you and wants to take care of you, have a happy life with him and have lots of beautiful children, and forget about me.

--Sei...I said, coming closer to her.

--Please!

--Sei...look at me.

She turned towards me, her eyes red, not from alcohol but from tears now, and I put my right hand on hers and bent in closer.

--No, don't...

And there, under the stained glass I stroked her hair with my left and kissed her softly, on the forehead, and her grip on the railing relaxed, just a little, and when I'd done I told her:

--Sei...let's go home together, okay?

---

We had not walked together, hand in hand, since Lillian Academy; as we walked together one evening after school, Sei had thrust my hand into her pocket with her and held it there. When I remembered it it seemed so furtive. Perhaps she had not dared anything more.

At Berri-UQAM, I remember, the stained-glass picture had been only dimly lit when I had first seen it. Now, the picture was fully lit, and I could see the two men and the woman, heroic, as they truly were.

It was I who had led Sei onto the platform towards Berri-UQAM, and now I took her by the hand and held it tightly as I led her back onto the metro towards Beaudry station, up Jacob's ladder to rue Ste-Catherine and back to rue Panet. I had let Noriko take the lead with me, and now it was my turn to take the lead with Sei. How could it have been otherwise, with fear holding us both back? Even in the Village Sei still seemed apprehensive, her hand trembling, her eyes looking around. Were we the only women holding hands here? We might have been, it's true. The men were more visible, to be sure.

Did I remind Sei of Thérèse? Thérèse reminded me of Sei.

---

--What?...Yes, Mr. Brownstein...yes, I know it's the third time this month... It's fall already. You don't need to run your AC at maximum. That's why it keeps breaking down...look, I'll call the repairman right now, all right? He'll be there today. What else do you want me to do?...yes, I know it's older than you. It would cost me money to replace and I'd have to replace everybody else's. I'd have to raise your rent...I'm sorry, Mr. Brownstein, I have another call. If he doesn't show call me. Goodbye.

Madeleine hung up her cell-phone just as we came in from the hall. She looked at us from her living-room chair, a little oddly.

--Bonjour...she said. Sei, t'as-tu une gueule de bois toujours?

--Madeleine, I said, we are going upstairs. Is that okay?

--Sure, said Madeleine, shrugging. Don't let me stop you.

As we went up, still hand in hand, I heard Madeleine turn up the television just a bit.

---

We went upstairs and sat on Sei's bed, still hand in hand, and I stroked her hair now with my free hand, looking into her beautiful eyes. Her hand trembled in mine.

--Please don't, she said, a little weakly. But she did not move or look away.

--Why not? Are you afraid you'll lead me astray?

--I don't want to hurt you too.

--Sei, I said, I'm a sinner like you.

Then I kissed her, long and deep.

---

She was so unlike Noriko. Was she heavier than before? I couldn't tell, though of course I'd never seen her like this; in spite of her trying to look harsh, it was a softer, fuller body than Noriko's, with those beautiful pale eyes. So nervous now. The way Sei touched me was so different too...how had I imagined it? I suppose much the way Yumi might have imagined it, much as Noriko had in fact touched me--passionately, practically ravishing me. Nothing could be farther from the truth--Sei was furtive, almost virginal, gently brushing me with her lips and fingers, not so much teasing as daring not to go further for fear I'd shatter at her touch. It was I who took the lead, gently guiding her hesitant hand where it needed to go, and after I let go--a gentle, happy little shiver--I was the one who ravished her with my mouth until she silently let go, biting back a cry.

When we were done, we lay together naked, running our hands over each other, looking into each other's eyes.

--What are you thinking about? Sei asked.

I snapped out of my reverie, and answered without thinking:

--...I never imagined it would be quite like this.

--Me either.

Sei giggled and kissed me on the lips, but I replied:

--How did you imagine it?

--Shimako...please. I'm done talking about me. You haven't told me about you.

--I don't understand.

--Shimako...this wasn't the first time you've done this after all. Is it?

--No, Sei.

--Thank God, Sei replied.

I kissed her back, on the forehead, and said:

--You know, though...I very much wanted it to be.

--You did?

--Mm-hmm.

--Shimako?...Promise you won't get mad?

--I promise.

--If it wasn't me...who was it?

--Sei? You still don't know? Who else could it have been?

Those lovely, gentle eyes suddenly went wide in recognition.

--...Ohshit--

She sat up like a shot, pulling the sheets to her and covering her face, and realizing what I had said I sat up too, and put my hand on her shoulder to calm her.

--Sei...!

--This was a bad idea...!

--Sei, I'm sorry!...You don't understand!...We don't do this. Any more.

--Any more?

--No.

--Oh God...Shimako. That's why she didn't want to be your soeur any more? Because of me?

--It wasn't like you're thinking, Sei...she wasn't angry with me at all. She thought this might happen. Sei...I think she wanted it to happen. She said she liked the idea of us together.

--Seriously?

--I was stunned myself.

--Shimako, this is crazy! I'm still drunk, you're on the rebound...

--Sei...you don't understand. I've wanted to be with you for a very long time. Noriko...she knows me very well. Was she wrong?

--I don't know.

But Sei did seem to relax a bit under my touch, and looked back at me finally.

--Why didn't you tell me? she asked me.

--About Noriko?

--About...everything!

--Would you have believed it?

--I don't know.

--Sei...Is that what you were afraid of? You thought you'd ruined Shiori and you thought you'd ruin me too?

--I didn't go this far with Shiori.

Now it was my turn to be surprised.

--...What?

--I only saw her at school, said Sei. All we did was kiss.

--You're sure?

--I...shit, what am I saying? You don't want to hear this...!

--Tell me, I said.

--I...if I'd touch her a bit, through her clothes, she'd get nervous. And so was I too, so I didn't do that much...

--I noticed...the way you touched me, just now, very furtively.

--Didn't you like it?

--It was nice...it just wasn't what I had expected.

--That's it. I'm not always like that. Other girls I'm like, "Yeah! Let's do it!" I don't know. Maybe I'm less worried about their feelings because I didn't care about them...

--Or maybe you know they're not virgins so you don't think you'll break their hearts?

--Maybe...

I kissed her deeply again, and whispered in her ear:

--I'll bet she was a wonderful kisser.

--...What?

Sei was blushing. I giggled, and added:

--Am I like her? She's a lot like you.

--You think?

--Yes...I liked her a lot. I wonder would we have made good soeurs.

--I don't know...

--But...she blames herself for all this. I wanted her to come with me to see you, but she wouldn't. She's lonely too.

Sei said nothing. She looked away, but I went on:

--Sei...I don't want you running away from people because you're afraid of hurting them. Any more. Sei, I love you. I'm not the only one who loves you too. And I want you to come home, okay?

--What? To Japan? said Sei. What would I do there?

--You might at least observe the New Year at my father's temple, mightn't you? I didn't say you had to stay there forever. And m father likes you too. He's not the only one who misses you.

--My dad?

--Yumi too. Your biggest fan.

--What? Yumi?

--Yes. And Noriko. I think you two got off on the wrong foot. You need to make up for that.

--Do I?...I might do that.

--You should.

--But Shimako…are you still coming here? I mean…you haven't even gotten into McGill yet.

--My English is coming along. My grades are fine. Let me worry about that, all right?

--Shimako? said Sei, looking back at me.

--Yes?

--You know, you're a great kisser too.

--Oh? I said, giggling.

--Do it again.

I did; and she touched me again, still gently, but now much more confidently, as if we had been doing this all our lives.

---

We never did make it to McGill, at least not that day. We lay in Sei's bed, kissing, cuddling and touching, and finally dozing until it got dark. Perhaps it was the last of the jet-lag that made me doze, but either way, neither of us wanted to leave the dream-world of each other's arms any sooner than we had to.

Finally hunger drove us out of bed--we never had had lunch. Sei got up first, dressed and ordered a pizza while I dressed. We ended up sharing it with Madeleine watching a soap opera in French, Sei putting the captions on for me. Madeleine was transfixed; Sei sat with me on the couch, laughing at the silliness and melodrama of it all until Madeleine shushed her, and I laughed with Sei, more because she was laughing than because I understood very much. If Madeleine noticed anything amiss about us holding hands, much less what we had been doing upstairs, she did not mention it. Somehow I doubted she would make Sei move out, at least then.

--Shimako, Sei asked me finally. Were you going to go to mass tomorrow?

I had planned to--I would have no time on Sunday.

--Yes...why?

--I thought we could go to St-Pierre-Apôtre. It's just down the street. Plenty of gay people and not too many tourists. That's where Madeleine goes. You can hear yourself think. Right, Madeleine?

We? I thought.

--What? said Madeleine, looking at Sei as if she'd gone mad. Sei wants to go to mass? Is the world about to end?

--I'll be good. I'll go to confession first, said Sei, grinning. I'd better or God'll strike me down with lightning just for showing up...

--Bah, said Madeleine, dismissing the idea with a wave. If He was going to bother with that He'd strike down half the city. They're glad just to have people show up these days. Just say a good act of contrition.

--What did you do that you have to confess? I asked, just to tease her.

--This and that, Sei answered, shrugging. Getting drunk on Saint-Denis... never going to mass...stealing the hearts of pretty girls...

I bent in and whispered in her ear:

--If they forgave you, surely so has He? And they did. Long ago. Come with me.

Sei didn't answer, but smiled, and squeezed my hand tighter.

---

We slept in Sei's room that night and Saturday night, without hearing a word of complaint from Madeleine.

On Sunday we took the train to Dorval together, holding hands; but at the check-in I had to whisper in her ear:

--I wonder if Sei will hug me goodbye?

She laughed, and hugged me, kissing me softly on the cheek, but even then the hug was a little tentative. Surely, I thought, hugging in public was nothing Canadians would notice?

--Please, I whispered, I'm not made of glass, and hugged her back, as tightly as I could.

She hugged me back more tightly, sighing a little, her breath starting to catch like mine; we held each other for a long time, and it was only reluctantly that she finally let me go. I was quite ready for that though, resting my hands on her shoulders.

--I'll see you at the New Year? I asked.

--S...Sure! she said, blushing. Had I ever seen her blush like that, I wondered?

On the runway at Dorval it's easy to see the Oratoire Saint-Joseph perched on mont Royal. Sei had finally taken me there on Saturday, and indulged me as I lit a candle and prayed. "What are you praying for?" she asked me, and I'd said, "Nothing, I'm thanking St. Joseph and Our Lady."

--For me?

--Sei, please! I'd laughed.

But she had been half-right; I had been praying for her, thanking Our Lady and her husband St. Joseph for looking after Sei, and Shiori Kubo, and myself in Montreal, and for Our Lady to deliver Shiori at last as she had Sei. As the plane began to take off I prayed to Our Lady to watch Sei wherever she went in the city of Mary, until we saw each other again.

TSUZUKU

Ottawa-Hull, 2005-2008


End file.
